Tell Me, Ye Wingèd Winds

That round my pathway roar, Do ye not know some spot Where mortals weep no more? Some lone and pleasant dell, Some valley in the west, Where, free from toil and pain, The weary soul may rest? The loud wind dwindled to a whisper low, And sighed for pity as it answered,—"No."

Tell me, thou mighty deep. Whose billows round me play, Know'st thou some favored spot, Some island far away, Where weary man may find The bliss for which he sighs,— Where sorrow never lives, And friendship never dies? The loud waves, rolling in perpetual flow, Stopped for awhile, and sighed to answer,—"No."

And thou, serenest moon, That, with such lovely face, Dost look upon the earth, Asleep in night's embrace; Tell me, in all thy round Hast thou not seen some spot Where miserable man May find a happier lot? Behind a cloud the moon withdrew in woe, And a voice, sweet but sad, responded,—"No."

Tell me, my secret soul, O, tell me, Hope and Faith, Is there no resting-place From sorrow, sin, and death? Is there no happy spot Where mortals may be blest, Where grief may find a balm, And weariness a rest? Faith, Hope, and Love, best boons to mortals given, Waved their bright wings, and whispered,—"Yes, in heaven!"