Far from the world, O Lord, I flee,

From strife and tumult far;

From scenes where Satan wages still

His most successful war.

2 The calm retreat, the silent shade,

With prayer and praise agree;

And seem by thy sweet bounty made

For those who follow thee.

3 There, if thy Spirit touch the soul,

And grace her mean abode,

O, with what peace, and joy, and love,

She then communes with God!

4 There, like the nightingale she pours

Her solitary lays;

Nor asks a witness of her song,

Nor thirsts for human praise.

5 Author and Guardian of my life!

Sweet Source of light divine,

And all harmonious names in one—

My Saviour!—thou art mine!

6 What thanks I owe thee, and what love—

A boundless, endless store—

Shall echo through the realms above,

When time shall be no more.