Tell me, ye winged winds,
That round my pathway soar,
Do ye not know some spot
Where mortals weep no more?
Some lone and pleasant dell,
Some valley in the west,
Where, free from toil and pain,
The weary soul may rest?
The loud wind dwindled to a whisper low,
And sighed for pity, as it answered, "No."
Tell me, thou mighty deep,
Whose billows round me play,
Knowest thou some favored spot,
Some island far away,
Where weary man may find
The bliss for which he sighs,
Where sorrow never lives,
And friendship never dies?
The loud waves, rolling in perpetual flow,
Stopped for awhile, and sighed, to answer,
"No."
Tell me, my secret soul,
Oh tell me, Hope and Faith,
Is there no resting-place
From sorrow, sin, and death?
Is there no happy spot
Where mortals may be blest;
Where grief may find a balm,
And weariness a rest?
Faith, Hope, and Love, best boons to mortals
given,
Waved their bright wings, and answered, "Yes,
in heaven."
