Vespers—Tuesday

All-bountiful Creator, who, When Thou didst mould the world, didst drain The waters from the mass, that so Earth might immovable remain;

That its dull clods it might transmute To golden flowers in vale or wood, To juice of thirst allaying fruit, And grateful herbage spread for food;

Wash Thou our smarting wounds and hot, In the cool freshness of Thy grace; Till tears start forth the past to blot, And cleanse and calm Thy holy place;

Till we obey Thy full behest, Shun the world’s tainted touch and breath, Joy in what highest is and best. And gain a spell to baffle death.

Grant it, O Father, Only Son, And Holy Spirit, God of grace; To whom all glory, Three in One, Be given in every time and place.