January 22

Do thou, my God, my spirit's weather control;

And as I do not gloom though the day be dun,

Let me not gloom when earth-born vapours roll

Across the infinite zenith of my soul.

Should sudden brain-frost through the heart's summer run,

Cold, weary, joyless, waste of air and sun,

Thou art my south, my summer-wind, my all, my one.