O'er pleasant fields or shadowy by-ways drear,
I draw in joy, perchance in sadness, near
To where in peace the Blessed Valley lies.

Sometimes when thro' the sapphire arch of morn
The tides of light and bird-song mingled roll,
A softer radiance falls upon my soul,
A sweeter music to mine ear is borne.

When day's last color like a star-tipt sail
Has vanished o'er the western sea of night,
The air grows mellow with a rosy light,--
And lo! I stand within the mystic vale.

And sometimes on the city's crowded street,
Where avarice meets in never-ending fray,
The roar of trafficking dies far away,
And round me blooms the Blessed Valley sweet.

Bright dreams of Heaven! alas, how soon ye fail,
And leave me to the empty ways of earth,
Whose treasures seem to me of little worth,
Since I have stood within the Blessed Vale.