Whate'er without thy aid is wrought,
Or skilful deed, or wisest thought,
God counts it vain and merely naught.
O cleanse us that we sin no more.
O'er parched souls thy waters pour;
Heal the sad heart that acheth sore.
Thy will be ours in all our ways;
O melt the frozen with thy rays;
Call home the lost in error's maze.
And grant us, Lord, who cry to thee,
And hold the Faith in unity,
Thy precious gifts of charity;
That we may live in holiness,
And find in death our happiness,
And dwell with thee in lasting bliss!
From the Latin of KING ROBERT II. OF FRANCE.
Translation of CATHARINE WINKWORTH.
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