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.