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,
Till my lily of the valley
Somewhen, somewhere, my spirit find,
In a sweet celestial alley,
Far from our lost humankind;
Ah, my lily of the valley!

Lead me where the lily blows,
I would wear it in my life,
Weary of world-soil and strife,
Oh, lead me where the lily blows!

I wander till I find my flower
Breathing a divine perfume;
His white petals are a power
My lone spirit to illume:
And I will follow where the Lord
Wills my weary feet should go,
While ever in my soul I hoard
The glimpse allowed to me below
Of what belonged to Paradise
Allowed awhile on earth to beam,
Until my weary, wandering eyes,
With patient use, more native seem
To shadowy regions of dim death;
Till I faint behold my blossom,
No more in the outer Court have breath,
Earth's outer Court of life and death,
As erst, but in my very Bosom!