Adequacy

NOW, by the verdure on thy thousand hills, Beloved England, doth the earth appear Quite good enough for men to overbear The will of God in, with rebellious wills ! We cannot say the morning-sun fulfils Ingloriously its course, nor that the clear Strong stars without significance insphere Our habitation: we, meantime, our ills Heap up against this good and lift a cry Against this work-day world, this ill-spread feast, As if ourselves were better certainly Than what we come to. Maker and High Priest, I ask thee not my joys to multiply,-- Only to make me worthier of the least.