The Lord Who Gave Us

God Warms His Hands At Man's Heart When He Prays.

State Are Not Made, Nor Patched; They Grow; Grow Slow Through Centuries Of Pain, And Grow Correctly In The Main; But Only Grow By Certain Laws, Of Certain Bits In Certain Jaws.

I Must Go Down To The Sea Again, To The Lonely Sea And The Sky; And All I Ask Is A Tall Ship And A Star To Steer Her By.

And He Who Gives A Child A Treat Makes Joy-bells Ring In Heaven's Street, And He Who Gives A Child A Home Builds Palaces In Kingdom Come, And She Who Gives A Baby Birth Brings Saviour Christ Again To Earth.

On The Long Dusty Ribbon Of The Long City Street, The Pageant Of Life Is Passing Me On Multitudinous Feet, With A Word Here Of The Hills, And A Song There Of The Sea And-the Great Movement Changes-the Pageant Passes Me.