All seemeth so sure,
Yet nought doth remala :
Unending their change
Obeys Thy decree.
The valleys of ocean
Stand up a dry plain,
Thou whelmest the mountains
Beneath the deep sea.
The clouds gather rain
And melt o'er the land,
Then back to the sun
Are drawn by his shine :
Whereby the corn springeth
Through toil of man's hand,
And vineyards that gladden
His heart with good wine.
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