How oft along the woodland way
Fair streamlet of the hills
We've listen'd to the murm'ring voice
Of all the gushing rills

We saw the verdure on the brink
The grass, the ferns, the flow'rs
We heard the song of happy birds
That sported in thy bow'rs;

And when thy constant ripple show'd
In morn or evening bright
The glory of the rising sun
Or moon's serener light

We prayed that Love on us might beam
With radiance as divine
And that the lustre of our lives
Might come from Heav'n, like thine