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,
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.”