Far from the world, O Lord, I flee,

From strife and tumult far;

From scenes, where Satan wages still,

His 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 Spirit touch the soul,

And grace her mean abode;

Oh 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 Savior, thou art mine!

What thanks I owe thee, and what love,

A boundless, endless store;

Shall echo through the realms above,

When time shall be no more.