England
Language:
English
No lovelier hills than thine have laid
My tired thoughts to rest:
No peace of lovelier valleys made
Like peace within my breast.
Thine are the woods whereto my soul,
Out of the noontide beam,
Flees for a refuge green and cool
And tranquil as a dream.
Thy breaking seas like trumpets peal;
Thy clouds how oft have I
Watched their bright towers of silence steal
Into infinity!
My heart within me faints to roam
In thought even far from thee:
Thine be the grave whereto I come,
And thine my darkness be.
Authorship
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text),
listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)
Added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
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