If The Church Of England Were To

Sprinkled Along The Waste Of Years Full Many A Soft Green Isle Appears: Pause Where We May Upon The Desert Road, Some Shelter Is In Sight, Some Sacred Safe Abode.

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.

Time's Waters Will Not Ebb Nor Stay.

And Help Us, This And Every Day, To Live More Nearly As We Pray.

Sweet Is The Smile Of Home; The Mutual Look When Hearts Are Of Each Other Sure.