English

1. God of the strong, God of the weak, Lord of all
2. In suffering thou hast made us one, In mighty
lands and our own land, Light of all souls, from
burdens one are we. Teach us that lowliest
thee we seek Light from thy light, strength from thy hand.
duty done Is highest service unto thee.

3. Teach us, great Teacher of mankind,
The sacrifice that brings thy balm.
The love, the work that bless and bind;
Teach us thy majesty, thy calm.

4. Teach thou, and we shall know indeed
The truth divine that maketh free;

God of the seasons, hear my parting prayer,
Faint on the frosty air:
Let the New Year take up the work I leave,
And finish what I weave;
Give to the troubled nations lasting peace,
The harvest's yield increase;
Help the bereaved their sorrows to endure,
Care for the old and poor.

Bid him give patience to all those in pain,
And to the parched fields rain;
Protect the fledgling in its little nest,
See that the weary rest;
And when the midnight bells from tower and town
Send their sweet message down,

1. God of the nations, near and far, Ruler of all mankind,
2. The clash of arms still shakes the sky, King battles still with king;
Bless thou thy people as they strive The paths of peace to find.
Wild through the frighted air of night The bloody tocsins ring.

3. But clearer far the friendly speech
Of scientists and seers,
The wise debate of statesmen and
The shouts of pioneers.

4. And stronger far the claspèd hands
Of labor's teeming throngs,
Who in a hundred tongues repeat
The common creeds and songs.

All those years — almost a hundred —
the farm had hard water.
Hard orange. Buckets lined in orange.
Sink and tub and toilet, too,
once they got running water.
And now, in less than a lifetime,
just by changing the well's location,
in the same yard, mind you,
the water's soft, clear, delicious to drink.
All those years to shake your head over.
Look how sweet life has become;
you can see it in the couple who live here,
their calmness as they sit at their table,
the beauty as they offer you new water to drink.

God meant me to be hungry,
— So I should seek to find
Wisdom, and truth, and beauty,
— To satisfy my mind.

God meant me to be lonely,
— Lest I should wish to stay
In some green earthly Eden
— Too long from heaven away.

God meant me to be weary,
— That I should yearn to rest
This feeble, aching body
— Deep in the earth's dark breast.

God made Him birds in a pleasant humor;
Tired of planets and suns was He.
He said, " I will add a glory to summer,
Gifts for my creatures banished from Me! "

He had a thought and it set Him smiling,
Of the shape of a bird and its glancing head,
Its dainty air and its grace beguiling:
" I will make feathers, " the Lord God said.

He made the robin: He made the swallow;
His deft hands moulding the shape to His mood;
The thrush, the lark, and the finch to follow,
And laughed to see that His work was good.

GOD IS LOVE ; his mercy brightens
All the path in which we rove;
Bliss he wakes and woe he lightens;
God is wisdom, God is love.

Chance and change are busy ever;
Man decays, and ages move;
But his mercy waneth never;
God is wisdom, God is love.

E'en the hour that darkest seemeth,
Will his changeless goodness prove;
From the gloom his brightness streameth,
God is wisdom, God is love.

He with earthly cares entwineth
Hope and comfort from above;
Everywhere his glory shineth;

God how is it that we surrender
to love giving it the keys to our city
carrying candles to it and incense
falling down at its feet asking
to be forgiven
Why do we look for it and endure
all that it does to us
all that it does to us?

God hath been patient long. In eons past
— He plowed the waste of Chaos. He hath sown
— The furrows with His worlds, and from His throne
— Showered, like grain, planets upon the Vast.
What meed of glory hath He from the past?
— Shall He not reap, who hears but prayer and groan?
— The harvest waits. . . . He cometh to His own, —
— He who shall scythe the starry host at last.
When the accumulated swarms of Death
— Glut the rank worlds as rills are choked by leaves,
— Then shall God flail the million orbs, as sheaves

God has no end of material
For poets, priests and kings;
But what He needs is volunteers
To do the little things.
There are many men who're ready
To lead in battle and in strife;
But very few are willing to do
The little things of life.
The widow's mite was a little thing
From a money point of view;
But He who reads our inmost hearts,
Sees more than mortals do.