Thou, Who Dost Dwell Alone; Thou, Who Dost Know Thine Own; Thou, To Whom All Are Known, From The Cradle To The Grave, Save, O, Save! From The World'S Temptations; From Tribulations; From That Fierce Anguish Wherein We Languish; From That Torpor Deep Wherein We Lie Asleep, Heavy As Death, Cold As The Grave, Save, O, Save! When The Soul, Growing Clearer, Sees God No Nearer; When The Soul, Mounting Higher, To God Comes No Nigher; But The Arch-Fiend Pride Mounts At Her Side, Foiling Her High Emprize, Sealing Her Eagle Eyes, And, When She Fain Would Soar, Make Idols To Adore; Changing The Pure Emotion Of Her High Devotion, To A Skin-Deep Sense Of Her Own Eloquence; Strong To Deceive, Strong To Enslave, Save, O, Save! From The Ingrained Fashion Of This Earthly Nature That Mars Thy Creature; From Grief, That Is But Passion; From Mirth, That Is But Feigning; From Tears, That Bring No Healing; From Wild And Weak Complaining; Thine Old Strength Revealing, Save, O, Save! From Doubt, Where All Is Doable, Where Wise Men Are Not Strong; Where Comfort Turns To Trouble; Where Just Men Suffer Wrong; Where Sorrow Treads On Joy; Where Sweet Things Soonest Cloy; Where Faiths Are Built On Dust; Where Love Is Half Mistrust, Hungry, And Barren, And Sharp As The Sea; O, Set Us Free! O, Let The False Dream Fly Where Our Sick Souls Do Lie, Tossing Continually. O, Where Thy Voice Doth Come, Let All Doubts Be Dumb; Let All Words Be Mild; All Strife Be Reconciled; All Pains Beguiled. Light Brings No Blindness; Love No Unkindness; Knowledge No Ruin; Fear No Undoing, From The Cradle To The Grave, Save, O, Save!