HYMN
(tune: Melcombe)
The daily round, the common task
Are not enough for what we ask:
No Martha chose to cook the meal;
The hours of thought are what we steal.
The world is too much with us yet:
We little give and little get;
We lean to keep an even keel;
The hours of thought are what we steal.
Images swirl and whorl and sway
And tempt our eye to fill our day;
We see the world behind the wheel --
The hours of thought are what we steal.
The shouted words of angry men
Pretend that hell is come again
And order us to think them real;
The hours of thought are what we steal.
In hush of waking, barely heard,
Comes murmuring the living Word;
Rich thieves, in gratitude we kneel:
The hours of prayer are what we steal.
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