Make me, dear Lord, polite and kind, To everyone, I pray.And may I ask you how you find Yourself, dear Lord, today?

Are ye the ghosts of fallen leaves, O flakes of snow, For which, through naked trees, the winds A-mourning go?

A flash of harmless lightning,A mist of rainbow dyes.The burnished sunbeams brighteningFrom flower to flower he flies;While wakes the nodding blossomBut just too late to seeWhat lip hath touched her bosomAnd drained her rosary.