The beasts, that roam over the plain,

My form with indifference see,

They are so unacquainted with man,

Their tameness is shocking to me.

Society, friendship, and love,

Divinely bestowed upon man,

O had I the wings of a dove.

How soon would I taste you again!

My sorrows I then might assuage

In the ways of religion and truth,

Might learn from the wisdom of age,

And be cheered by the sallies of youth.

Religion! what treasure untold

Resides in that heavenly word!

More precious than silver or gold,

Or all that this earth can afford.

But the sound of the church-going bell

These valleys and rocks never heard,

Ne'er sighed at the sound of a knell,

Or smiled when a Sabbath appeared.

Ye winds, that have made me your sport,

Convey to this desolate shore

Some cordial endearing report,

Of a land I shall visit no more.

My friends, do they now and then send

A wish or a thought after me?

O tell me I yet have a friend,

Though a friend I am never to see.

How fleet is a glance of the mind!

Compared with the speed of its flight,

The tempest itself lags behind,

And the swift-winged arrows of light.

When I think of my own native land,

In a moment I seem to be there;

But, alas! recollection, at hand,

Soon hurries me back to despair.

But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest.

The beast is laid down in his lair,

Even here is a season of rest,

And I to my cabin repair.

There is mercy in every place;

And mercy, encouraging thought!

Gives even affliction a grace,

And reconciles man to his lot.