Give Us Grace To Listen Well.

The Trivial Round, The Common Task,would Furnish All We Ought To Ask.

Sun Of My Soul, Thou Savior Dear, It Is Not Night If Thou Be Near. Oh, May No Earthborn Cloud Arise To Hide Thee From Thy Servant's Eyes.

God Hath Sworn To Lift On High Who Sinks Himself By True Humility.

When The Shore Is Won At Last, Who Will Count The Billow Past?

The Watchful Mother Tarries Nigh Though Sleep Have Closed Her Infant's Eye, For Should He Wake, And Find Her Gone.