The dove, let loose in eastern skies,

Returning fondly home,

Ne’er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies

Where idle warblers roam;—

2 But high she shoots through air and light

Above all low delay,

Where nothing earthly bounds her flight,

Nor shadow dims her way.

3 So grant me, Lord, from every snare

And stain of passion free,

Aloft, through faith’s serener air,

To urge my course to thee;—

4 No sin to cloud, no lure to stay,

My soul as home she springs;

Thy sunshine on her joyful way

Thy freedom on her wings.