Oh wisened bells I cannot comprehend,
Perhaps your learning drags your even' calls,
From melodies past to cryptic volleys,
Which strictly remark the short hand's deft fall,

Surely now this the very same remark,
Punctuates a different essence of the time,
The day is short, dusk ever on our heels,
Yet every tone is struck as if to rhyme.

Who am I? O Lord,
A sinner in white,
Within, my tumult is as rubble,
To be swept and cleaned,

You have made me at peace with you.
I will declare:
You O Lord have reconciled me to Yourself,
And I know peace.