Lord, who art wisdom’s fountain, make us wise.
The old year’s love shall live on in the new.
But love is weak and ignorant and blind,
Led by each wandering fancy of the mind,
Enticed by song of bird and scent of dew,
Misleading still where fain it would be true.
O Lord, whose love fails never night or day,
Teach us to love in Thine own perfect way.
That comes to end which now is just begun.
To wax, to wane, it is the common fate,