Lead Me Where the Lily Blows.
Friend, you tell me of a valley
Where the pure white lily blows,
In a shadowy woodland alley;
Lead me to their summer snows!
Oh, lead me where the lily blows!
I would wear it in my life,
Weary of world-soil and strife.
Lead me where the lily blows.
Angels planted in my garden,
A vain pleasance of ill weeds,
One white Lily, and the Warden
With sweet air from heaven feeds.
Ah! one night my lily died,
And I mourned him night and day;
"For the bosom of My Bride,"
The Lord saith, "he was borne away."
Then I wandered through the world
To find the flower-de-luce I lost,
And my wings will ne'er be furled,
Summer-poised, or tempest-tost,
