O tell me where the Dove has flown, To build her downy nest, And I will rove this world all o'er, To win her to my breast. I sought her in the groves of love, I knew her tender heart; But she had flown – the Dove of Peace, Had felt a traitor's dart. I sought her on the flow'ry lawn, Where pleasure holds her train; But fancy flies from flow'r to flow'r, So there I sought in vain. 'Twas on Ambition's craggy hill, The Bird of Peace might stray; I sought her there, though vainly still, She never flew that way. Faith smiled and shed a silent tear, To see my search around, Then whisper'd “I will tell you where The Dove may yet be found.” “By meek Religion's humble cot, She builds her downy nest; Go, seek that sweet secluded spot, And win her to your breast.”