No Lovelier Hills Than Thine Have Laid My Tired Thoughts To Rest: No Peace Of Lovelier Valleys Made Like Peace Within My Breast. Thine Are The Woods Whereto My Soul, Out Of The Noontide Beam, Flees For A Refuge Green And Cool And Tranquil As A Dream. Thy Breaking Seas Like Trumpets Peal; Thy Clouds - How Oft Have I Watched Their Bright Towers Of Silence Steal Into Infinity! My Heart Within Me Faults To Roam In Thought Even Far From Thee: Thine Be The Grave Whereto I Come, And Thine My Darkness Be.