All years are like, yet no one like another;
Sons of one sire, yet no one like his brother;
All use one language, yet the tales they tell
Speak now of earth, anon of heaven and hell.
They all are sent,
With kind intent,
The messengers of God, the loving Father,
To tell his weeping children, that his eye
Watches their sorrows from his world on high,
Where, near himself, he means them all to gather;