Low stir of leaves and dip of oars And lapsing waves on quiet shores.
Who fathoms the Eternal Thought? Who talks of scheme and plan? The Lord is God! He needeth not The poor device of man.
Bathsheba! to whom none ever said scat- No worthier cat Ever sat on a mat, Or caught a rat. Requiescat!
Leaning on Him, make with reverent meekness His own thy will.
A true life is at once interpreter and proof of the gospel.
This is truth the poet sings . . .