Phil. ii.13

Thou sayest, "Fit me, fashion me for Thee."

Stretch forth thine empty hands, and be thou still;

O restless soul, thou dost but hinder Me

By valiant purpose and by steadfast will.

Behold the summer flowers beneath the sun,

In stillness his great glory they behold;

And sweetly thus his mighty work is done,

And resting in his gladness they unfold.

So are the sweetness and the joy divine

Thine, O beloved, and the work is Mine.