O God of truth, for whom alone I sigh,
Knit thou my heart by strong, sweet cords to thee.
I tire of hearing; books my patience try;
Untired to thee I cry;
Thyself my all shalt be.
Lord, be thou near and cheer my lonely way;
With thy sweet peace my aching bosom fill;
Scatter my cares and fears; my griefs allay;
And be it mine each day
To love and please thee still.
My God! Thou hearest me; but clouds obscure
Even yet thy perfect radiance, truth divine!
O for the stainless skies, the splendors pure,
The joys that aye endure
When thine own glories shine!
--Pierre Corneille.