Lviii

Much has been trusted to Thy hands; My heart in them I planted, And God placed sweet songs in that heart To have men’s bliss augmented.

A strange plant is the human heart-- Not easily to nourish; For, it is up to love alone, If it shall die or flourish.

A strange plant is the human heart-- It needs the climate’s favor And dew and rain and best of care To yield fruit of good flavor.

So should my heart from Thy hands sprout In honor of the nation, Long ages that are yet to come Shall sing Thine adoration.