Hope on her wings, and God her guide.
The dove of Noah soared,
Far through the dim unfathomed space,
Where shoreless ocean roared.
But ah! she found no valley green,
No resting-place,-no track,
Until the peaceful ark received
The weary wanderer back.

So we, on Life's tempestuous sea,
Beset by grief and pain,
May seek a solace here below,
But ah! the search is vain.
A resting-place for weary man
Is only found above;
The ark to which the soul returns
Is the Almighty's love.