By Nebo’s lonely mountain

All things bright and beautiful, All creatures great and small, All things wise and wonderful: The Lord God made them all.

This was the truest warrior That ever buckled sword; This the most gifted poet That ever breathed a word; And never earth’s philosopher Traced with his golden pen

O, lonely tomb in Moab's land, O, dark Bethpeor's hill, Speak to these curious hearts of ours, And teach them to be still! God hath His mysteries of grace — Ways that we cannot tell;

He gave us eyes to see them, And lips that we might tell How great is God Almighty, Who has made all things well.

Thirty dayes hath Nouember, Aprill, June and September, February hath xxviii alone, And all the rest haue xxxi.

Father, dear father, come home with me now! The clock in the steeple strikes three; The house is so lonely, the hours are so long For poor weeping mother and me. Yes, we are alone, poor Benny is dead, And gone with the angels of light;