A daughter of the gods, divinely tall, And most divinely fair.

Gone - flitted away, Taken the stars from the night and the sun From the day! Gone, and a cloud in my heart.

And oft I heard the tender dove In firry woodlands making moan.

Cast all your cares on God; that anchor holds.

God's finger touched him, and he slept.

The Lord let the house of a brute to the soul of a man, And the man said, "Am I your debtor?" And the Lord--"Not yet: but make it as clean as you can, And then I will let you a better.

Ring out the false, ring in the true.