Or sliding through the meadows green,
Or where through matted sedge you creep,
Travelling to your Parent deep,
Sound His praise by whom you rose,
That Sea, which neither ebbs nor flows.
“No evil can from Thee proceed;
’Tis only suffer’d, not decreed—
Darkness is not from the sun,
Nor mount the shades till he is gone.
“O Father, King! whose Heavenly face