The dove, let loose in Eastern skies, Returning fondly home, Ne’er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies Where idle warblers roam; | But high she shoots through air and light, Above all low delay, Where nothing earthly bounds her flight, Nor shadow dims her way. | So grant me, Lord, from every snare And stain of passion free, Aloft, through faith’s serener air, To urge my course to Thee: | 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! | |