O tell me where the Dove has flown,
To build her downy nest,
And I will rove this world all o’er,
To win her to my breast.
I sought her in the groves of love,
I knew her tender heart;
But she had flown – the Dove of Peace,
Had felt a traitor’s dart.
I sought her on the flow’ry lawn,
Where pleasure holds her train;
But fancy flies from flow’r to flow’r,
So there I sought in vain.
‘Twas on Ambition’s craggy hill,
The Bird of Peace might stray;
I sought her there, tho vainly still,
She never flew that way.
Faith smiled and shed a silent tear,
To see my search around,
Then whisper’d “I will tell you where
The Dove may yet be found.”
“By meek Religion’s humble cot,
She builds her downy nest;
Go, seek that sweet secluded spot,
And win her to your breast.”