He (god) Never Comes To Those Who

Ye Heavens, How Sang They In Your Courts, How Sang The Angelic Choir That Day, When From His Tomb The Imprisoned God, Like The Strong Sunrise, Broke Away?

Labour Itself Is But A Sorrowful Song,the Protest Of The Weak Against The Strong.

There's A Wideness In God's Mercy Like The Wideness Of The Sea Oratory Hymns.

Small Things Are Best: Grief And Unrest To Rank And Wealth Are Given; But Little Things On Little Wings Bear Little Souls To Heaven.

Now Are The Days, Of Humblest Prayer, When Consciences To God Lie Bare, And Mercy Most Delights To Spare. Oh Hearken When We Cry. Now Is The Season, Wisely Long, Of Sadder Thought And Graver Song, When Ailing Souls Grow Well And Strong. Oh Hearken When We Cry. The Feast Of Penance! Oh So Bright, With True Conversion's Heavenly Light, Like Sunrise After Stormy Night! Oh Hearken When We Cry. Oh Happy Time Of Blessed Tears, Of Surer Hopes, Of Chast'ning Fears, Undoing All Our Evil Years. Oh Hearken When We Cry. Chastise Us With Thy Fear; Yet, Father! In The Multitude Of Thy Compassions, Hear!