Far from the world, O Lord! I flee,

From strife and tumult far;

From scenes where sin is waging still

Its most successful war.

The calm retreat, the silent shade,

With prayer and praise agree;

And seem by Thy sweet bounty made,

For those who follow Thee.

There, if Thy presence cheer the soul,

And grace her mean abode,

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

She communes with her God!

There, like the nightingale, she pours

Her solitary lays;

Nor asks a witness of her song,

Nor thirsts for human praise.

Author and Guardian of my life,

Sweet source of light divine,

And,—all harmonious names in one,—

My Father! Thou art mine!