A little gathered spark,
The splinter of a flame,
And ever taking part,
In glorious refrain:
The covenants of old,
Are full in thee today,
From every creature told,
Thine majesty at play.

Returning to our symbols,
At the jest and wit of such orators,
They open up the wisdom of their time:
Dishevelled hair and awkward smiles,
That hide a fierce humanity spent,
In pure pursuit of abstract riddles,
In boyish sprints and sagelike seats,
With friends and walking far alone,
With books that make the monuments of the past.

A hearty pangram steaming on the stove,
The ancient stew dear to typographers,
Lifeblood of font soldiers and marching sets,
A tale to span the breadth of language yet,
To hold the gaze - transfix philosophers,

Why did the slight brown fox run quick?
Why springly jump into the midnight air?
Why chase the lazy dog while good stars sleep?
And bar them peace to bask in silver glow?

Holy and blameless,
Wholly good and different,
Righteous and ever loving,
Everlasting brother and friend,

You conquered sinful disposition,
Leaving us bright, pure and righteous again
In your sight you leave me ever praising,
Praising your true adoption,
Freeing us from filthiest dens.