Adequacy
NOW,
by
the
verdure
on
thy
thousand
hills,
Beloved
England,
doth
the
earth
appear
Quite
good
enough
for
men
to
overbear
The
will
of
God
in,
with
rebellious
wills
!
We
cannot
say
the
morning-sun
fulfils
Ingloriously
its
course,
nor
that
the
clear
Strong
stars
without
significance
insphere
Our
habitation:
we,
meantime,
our
ills
Heap
up
against
this
good
and
lift
a
cry
Against
this
work-day
world,
this
ill-spread
feast,
As
if
ourselves
were
better
certainly
Than
what
we
come
to.
Maker
and
High
Priest,
I
ask
thee
not
my
joys
to
multiply,—
Only
to
make
me
worthier
of
the
least.
