Where Swallows And Wheatfields Are, O Hamlet Brown And Still, O River That Shineth Far, By Meadow, Pier, And Mill: O Endless Sunsteeped Plain, With Forests In Dim Blue Shrouds, And Little Wisps Of Rain, Falling From Far-Off Clouds: I Come From The Choking Air Of Passion, Doubt, And Strife, With A Spirit And Mind Laid Bare To Your Healing Breadth Of Life: O Fruitful And Sacred Ground, O Sunlight And Summer Sky, Absorb Me And Fold Me Round, For Broken And Tired Am I.