Thou shalt do what Thou wilt with thine own hand, br Thou form'st the spirit like the moulded clay; br For those who love Thee keep thy just command, br And in thine image grow as they obey; br New tints and forms with every hour they take br Whose life is fashioned by thy spirit's power; br The crimson dawn is round them when they wake, br And golden triumphs wait the evening hour; br The queenly-sceptred night their souls receives, br And spreads their pillows 'neath her sable tent; br Above them Sleep their palm with poppy weaves, br Sweet rest Thou hast to all who labor lent; br That they may rise refreshed to light again br And with Thee gather in the whitening grain.