Ah, make me less that I become more Thee.
Make me not humble, but meek.
Make my meekness nay an weakness
But an armor.
Cloak my frailness o' Thy love.
Thereby shall all that I do lack me
Be made whole and full filled.
by Herman Melville
" Up, up! Around morn's standard rally;
She makes a sortie — join the sally:
Up, slug-a-beds; up, up!"
That call
Ere matins did each pilgrim hear
In cell, and knew the blithe voice clear.