I knew a strong man,
And he dwelt mid the hills where the swift streams ran,
For he loved to live where his life began.
But they took him away, and made him abide
Where the great streets darken and chafe and chide
With their ceaseless tide,
And he mourned for the hills which mourned for the man,
So he sickened and died.

I knew a weak bird,
And she sang in the woods where her song was first heard,
For she loved the bowers by her young wing stirred.
But they caught her away, and made her abide
In a cage where she sang not, but often cried
For her lost forest wide,
And she mourned for the woods which mourned for the bird,
So she languished and died.

O Land of the Soul!
Men have lived on thy hills within Love's control,
And fain had they stayed where thy star-streams roll.
But a hand plucked them thence and made them abide
In a world where they wandered, and often cried
For that first hillside, —
" O Love, take us back to thy Land of the Soul. "
So they sorrowed and died.