To leave my dear friends, and with neighbors to part,
And go from my home, it afflicts not my heart,
Like thoughts of absenting myself for a day
From that blessed retreat where I've chosen to pray,
I've chosen to pray.
Dear bower where the pine and the poplar have spread,
And wove, with their branches, a roof o'er my head,
How oft have I knelt on the evergreen there,
And poured out my soul to my Savior in prayer,
My Savior in prayer.
The early shrill notes of the loved nightingale
That dwelt in my bower, I observed as my bell,
To call me to duty, while birds of the air
Sing anthems of praises as I went to prayer,
As I went to prayer.
How sweet were the zephyrs perfumed by the pine,
The ivy, the balsam, and wild eglantine;
But sweeter, ah! sweeter, superlative were
The joys I have tasted in answer to prayer,
In answer to prayer.
For Jesus, my Savior, oft deigned there to meet,
And blessed with his presence my humble retreat
Oft filled me with rapture and blessedness there,
Inditing, in heaven's own language, my prayer,
Own language my prayer.
Dear bower, I must leave you and bid you adieu,
And pay my devotions in parts that are new,
For Jesus, my Savior, resides everywhere,
And can, in all places give answer to prayer,
Give answer to prayer.