In life's oft darkened bowers.
Pass to the green hill-side,
And let us wander where the wild flowers grow,
Gaze on the sedgy stream's calm depths below,
Where gentle minnows glide.
The sheltered cuckoo's notes,
In the young sunshine, echo on the ear—
A moving voice, from all around, is here!—
Hymns from a thousand throats:—
The spirit grows the more