Troubled Long With Warring Notions Long Impatient Of Thy Rod, I Resign My Soul'S Emotions Unto Thee, Mysterious God! What Avails The Kindly Shelter Yielded By This Craggy Rent, If My Spirit Toss And Welter On The Waves Of Discontent? Parching Summer Hath No Warrant To Consume This Crystal Well; Rains, That Make Each Rill A Torrent, Neither Sully It Nor Swell. Thus, Dishonouring Not Her Station, Would My Life Present To Thee, Gracious God, The Pure Oblation Of Divine Tranquillity!