On the green pastures of tranquil peace
And prosperity may my soul famished
Ever be laid, to be fed and sated . . .

May my heart parched find solace
Beside the brook of goodness still
And cool, and my emptiness refill . . .

Serenity for trouble, joy for sorrow:
Let singing boughs bear the barren
Figs--bringing forth fruit of wren . . .

Arrow aimed at a flying sparrow,
Man must live not by bread alone.
He gains heaven that hell doth disown.