Thou sayest, Fit me, fashion me for Thee.
Stretch forth thine empty hands, and be thou still:
O restless soul, thou dost but hinder Me
By valiant purpose and by steadfast will.
Behold the summer flowers beneath the sun,
In stillness his great glory they behold;
And sweetly thus his mighty work is done.
And resting in his gladness they unfold.
So are the sweetness and joy Divine
Thine, O beloved, and the work is mine.”