BLESSED ARE THE MEEK, FOR THEY SHALL INHERIT THE EARTH.

A quiet heart, submissive, meek, Father do thou bestow; Which more than granted will not seek To have, or give, or know.

Each green hill then will hold its gift Forth to my joying eyes; The mountains blue will then uplift My spirit to the skies.

The falling water then will sound As if for me alone; Nay, will not blessing more abound That many hear its tone?

The trees their murmuring forth will send, The birds send forth their song; The waving grass its tribute lend, Sweet music to prolong.

The water-lily's shining cup, The trumpet of the bee, The thousand odours floating up, The many-shaded sea;

The rising sun's imprinted tread Upon the eastward waves; The gold and blue clouds over head; The weed from far sea-caves;

All lovely things from south to north, All harmonies that be, Each will its soul of joy send forth To enter into me.

And thus the wide earth I shall hold, A perfect gift of thine; Richer by these, a thousandfold, Than if broad lands were mine.