TWO hands upon the breast,
And labor's done;
Two pale feet crossed in rest--
The race is won;
Two eyes with coin-weights shut,
And all tears cease;
Two lips where grief is mute,
Anger at peace':--
So pray we oftentimes, mourning our lot
God in his kindness answereth not.

'Two hands to work addrest
Aye for His praise;
Two feet that never rest
Walking His ways;
Two eyes that look above
Through all their tears;
Two lips still breathing love,
Not wrath, nor fear';
So pray we afterwards, low on our knees;
Pardon those erring prayers! Father, hear these!