Across a thousand miles of sea, a hundred
leagues of land,
Along a path I had not traced and could not
understand,
I travelled fast and far for this,--to take thee
by the hand.
A pilgrim knowing not the shrine where he would
bend his knee,
A mariner without a dream of what his port
would be,
So fared I with a seeking heart until I came to
thee.
O cooler than a grove of palm in some heat-weary
place,
O fairer than an isle of calm after the wild sea
race,
The quiet room adorned with flowers where first
I saw thy face!
Then furl the sail, let fall the oar, forget the paths
of foam!
The Power that made me wander far at last has
brought me home
To thee, dear haven of my heart, and I no more
will roam.