In the County of Westchester, N. Y.

1.

By thy still waters, lonely Lake,

The wild-dove builds her hermit home,

And there her matin-song doth make,

Where mornings all like Sabbaths come:

O’er thee she flits with silent wing,

Or lulls thee with its silken sound,

Thee—sleeping like a holy thing,

And hid from all the world around.

2.

No voice along thy leafy shore,

But nature’s hymns are rising there,

Nor oft the echo-waking oar

Disturbs thy breast, and haunted air!

A fane upon thy water side

With lights ablaze in every cell,

How bright ’twould seem at even tide,

How soft be heard its Vesper Bell!

3.

By thy still waters, lonely Lake,

I too could build a hermit home,

Where mornings all like Sabbaths break,

And Earth’s alarm can never come;

And there, this bosom, Heavenly Dove,

A cell for thy repose might be,

Forsaking all for worlds above,

And all the world forsaking me.