What full and everlasting ways are true,
Are ever winding on before with you,
To be so fully loved and fallen on,
Met with abandon of a father's kiss.

The hidden droughted parts bloom full as new,
The wayward soul has gathered to his view,
To ever stand beholding his all-love,
Met with inaugural glory in a shame.

Facing all our frailties,
Our strength comes frivolous and spent,
Our minds unbearably slow,
And footing inches from the empty air,
Where shall we turn but to Him still?
Our grounding and severest bet,
Our wager on eternity:
On goodness, peace and hope,
On our strong terror and assured ransom,
On divine reason that mutes the dragon.

Men's breakfast,
Bacon if you please,
Sausage too will be class,
So many conversations with ease,
This strong community to last,
To eternity without cease,
To hold ever tighter to the mast,
Firm wisdom for the seas,
Now this, this is a Men's breakfast.

Shaded walls,
Do flow on upwards,
Sheering off to a flat face above,
A surface that is,
Nothing strange to see,
But nighttime waltzing to the tune of retreating day,
When noonday folk do rest from toil,
And gaze upon their frames beyond tight eyes,
And thoughts fall into weary dust of dreaming-scapes.