Cometh my help. The murmuring firs stretch forth
Their myriad tiny crosses o’er my head;
Deep rolls the organ peal of thunder down
The echoing vale, while clouds of incense float
Around the great white altar set on high.
So lift my heart, O God, and purify
My thought, that when I walk once more
Amid the busy, anxious, struggling throng,
One cup of water from these springs of life,
One ray of sunlight from these golden days,