Tell me, on what holy ground
May domestic peace be found?
Halcyon daughter of the skies,
Far on fearful wing she flies,
From the pomp of scepter’d state,
From the rebel’s noisy hate.
In a cottaged vale she dwells
List’ning to the Sabbath bells!
Still around her steps are seen,
Spotless honor’s meeker mien,
Love, the sire of pleasing fears,
Sorrow smiling through her tears,
And conscious of the past employ,
Memory, bosom-spring of joy.
– Samuel Taylor Coleridge