And the prayer of her faith it grows fervent now,
While signing the cross upon breast and brow.
Oh stranger of darkness, kneel not there,
Tho’ the fountain with freshness fills the air,
And its waters are sweet as the summer rain,
But they cannot give thee the day again.
Yet, tell us, ye searching ones and wise,
Oh! whence did these ancient dreams arise
Of the holy and hidden things, which still
Were mighty to heal all human ill?