Indexes for The Sacred Harp, 2025 Edition

To leave my dear friends, and with neighbors to part,
And go from my home, it affects not my heart
Like thoughts of absenting myself for a day
From that blest retreat where I’ve chosen to pray.

Dear bow’r, where the pine and the poplar have spread,
And wove with the branches a roof o’er my head!
How oft have I knelt on the evergreen there,
And poured out my soul to my Savior in prayer.

The early shrill notes of the loved nightingale
That dwelt in my bow’r I observed as my bell,
To call me to duty, while birds of the air
Sang anthems of praise as I went to my prayer.