The Lord indeed is rightly loved,
By hellish troubled men;
His mercy is like gentle doves,
That for their souls contend,

For are his works not grand and wild,
So rigorous in praise,
His rule so marvelous: from vile,
That worshippers should raise.

Lounging for the passage of a parted day,
The mind so wandering and vast,
Expands so lightly in the vacant hours,
Calmly ebbing in a stiller rhythm downstream.

Wet grass and the cascading whiff,
Of all encompasing life in verdant sprawl,
Wisened roots to gentrify in truer sense,
Lowly paths to watch ascending arches,
Leaves and moss to drape the land in pearls.

Blessed Well, my near comforter,
Refresh me now I thirst for you,
My soul is quenched by no other,
I'm parched without...