1 The dove, let loose in Eastern skies,
Returning fondly home,
Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies
Where idle warblers roam;

2 But high she shoots through air and light,
Above all low delay,
Where nothing earthly bounds her flight,
Nor shadow dims her way.

3 So grant me, Lord, from every snare
And stain of passion free,
Aloft, through faith's serener air,
To urge my course to Thee:

4 No sin to cloud, no lure to stay,
My soul, as home she springs;
Thy sunshine on her joyful way,
Thy freedom on her wings!