The whispering voices
of wind on the moor
are verdant with meaning.
Every man of discernment, while walking upon the earth, feeleth indeed abashed
We return thanks to our mother, the Earth, which sustains us;
f ever there were a spring day so perfect, so uplifted by a warm intermittent breeze
The exciting miracle of stirring Spring,
the thrill and delight when bird choirs sing.
May dandelions push through debris,
Green and yellow Surrounded by grey
Dust and stones.
I am a poor wayfaring stranger,
Travelling through this world of woe,
There is no sickness, war or danger
In that bright land to which I go.
We beseech Thee, O Lord our God, to set the peace of Heaven within the hearts of men, that it may bind the nations also in a covenant which shall not be broken, to the honour of Thy holy name.