In distant Europe oft I've longed to see
This quiet Vale of Grace; to list the sound
Of lulling brooks and moaning turtles round
The apostle Schmidt's old consecrated tree;
To hear the hymns of solemn melody
Rising from the sequestered burial ground;
To see the heathen taught, the lost sheep found,
The blind restored, the long-oppressed set free.
All thus I've witnessed now—and pleasantly
Its memory shall in my heart remain;
But yet more close familiar ties there be
That bind me to this spot with grateful chain—
For it hath been a Sabbath Home to me,
Through lingering months of solitude and pain.
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