If The Church Of England

Pride Of The Dewy Morning, The Swain's Experienced Eye From Thee Takes Timely Warning. Nor Trusts The Gorgeous Sky.

God Hath Sworn To Lift On High Who Sinks Himself By True Humility.

Sweet Is The Smile Of Home; The Mutual Look When Hearts Are Of Each Other Sure.

Soft As Memnon's Harp At Morning, To The Inward Ear Devout, Touched By Light, With Heavenly Warning Your Transporting Chords Ring Out. Every Leaf In Every Nook, Every Wave In Every Brook, Chanting With A Solemn Voice Minds Us Of Our Better Choice.

Peace Is The First Thing The Angels Sang.