The voice that breathed o’er Eden, / That earliest wedding day.

We need not bid, for cloistered cell, / Our neighbour and our work farewell. / Nor strive to wind ourselves too high / For sinful man beneath the sky.

Peace is the first thing the angels sang.

We cannot pass our guardian angel’s bounds, resigned or sullen, he will hear our sighs.

If the Church of England were to fail, it would be found in my parish

As fire kindled by fire, so is the poet’s mind kindled by contact with a brother poet.

Be every mourner’s sleep tonight / Like infant’s slumbers, pure and light.

The trivial round, the common task, / Would furnish all we ought to ask; / Room to deny ourselves, a road / To bring us, daily, nearer God.

And help us, this and every day, to live more nearly as we pray.

Abide with me from morn to eve, / For without Thee I cannot live: / Abide with me when night is nigh. / For without Thee I dare not die.

New every morning is the love / Our wakening and uprising prove.

The watchful mother tarries nigh, though sleep has closed her infants eyes.