“From every point on earth we are equally near to heaven and the infinite.”—Henri Amiel.
OUT of the depths that are to us so deep,
Up to the heights so hopelessly above,
Past storms that intervene and winds that sweep,
Unto thine ear, O pitying Lord of love,
We send our cry for aid, doubtful and half afraid
If thou, so very far, canst hear us or canst aid.
Out of the dull plane of our common life,
Beset with sordid, interrupting cares,
And petty motives and ignoble strife,