There is a vale that none hath seen
Where foot of man has never been
Such as here lives with toil and strife
An anxious and erring life
There every virtue has its birth
Ever descending on the earth
To it every deed returns
And in the generous bosom burns
Hear the truth in my strings
As the wind helps me sing
Songs that seldom can be heard
It's no language of word
There love is warm, and youth is young
And poetry is yet unsung
For virtue still adventures there
And freely breathes her native air
And if you ever hearken well
You still may hear it's vesper bell
And tread of high-souled men go by
Their thoughts conversing with the sky
Hear the truth in my strings
As the wind helps me sing
Songs that seldom can be heard
It's no language of word
Hear the truth in my strings
As the wind helps me sing
Songs that seldom can be heard
It's no language of word
Hear the truth in my strings
As the wind helps me sing
Songs that seldom can be heard
It's no language of word