Vale of the Cross! the shepherds tell
'Tis sweet within thy woods to dwell!
For there are sainted shadows seen,
That frequent haunt the dewy green;
By wandering winds the dirge is sung,
The convent bells by spirits rung;
And matin hymns, and vesper prayer,
Break softly on the tranquil air.

Vale of the Cross! the shepherds tell
'Tis sweet within thy woods to dwell!
For peace hath there her spotless throne,
And pleasures to the world unknown;
The murmur of the distant rills,
The sabbath-silence of the hills;
And all the quiet God hath given,
Without the golden gates of Heaven.

Vale of the Cross! the shepherds tell
'Tis sweet within thy woods to dwell!
For there are sainted shadows seen,
That frequent haunt the dewy green;
By wandering winds the dirge is sung,
The convent bells by spirits rung;
And matin hymns, and vesper prayer,
Break softly on the tranquil air.

Vale of the Cross! the shepherds tell
'Tis sweet within thy woods to dwell!
For peace hath there her spotless throne,
And pleasures to the world unknown;
The murmur of the distant rills,
The sabbath-silence of the hills;
And all the quiet God hath given,
Without the golden gates of Heaven.