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 little hill then holds its gift
        Forth to my joying eyes;
    Each mighty mountain then doth lift
        My spirit to the skies.

    Lo, then the running water sounds
        With gladsome, secret things!
    The silent water more abounds,
        And more the hidden springs.

    Live murmurs then the trees will blend
        With all the feathered song;
    The waving grass low tribute lend
        Earth's music to prolong.

    The sun will cast great crowns of light
        On waves that anthems roar;
    The dusky billows break at night
        In flashes on the shore.

    Each harebell, each white lily's cup,
        The hum of hidden bee,
    Yea, every odour floating up,
        The insect revelry--

    Each hue, each harmony divine
        The holy world about,
    Its soul will send forth into mine,
        My soul to widen out.

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