Britten

Thou shalt make them princes over all the earth
Thou shalt make them princes, princes over all the earth
They shall remember thy name, remember thy name O Lord, O Lord, Lord

The Stiles

Could not I come to Thee, Lord, for these
So very many hindrances
That slack my pace, yet not make me stay
Who slowly goes rids, in the end his way

Clear thou my paths, all these many miles
remove the bars, lift me o're the stiles  
since rough the way, help me when I call
and take me up, Lord slow down my fall

Fain would I rest, yet covet not death
For fear of a future full of distress
No thou know'st all, of my wishes be
To leave this life not, loving it but Thee

When that I shall depart from all this
From all the things that I will miss
When death shall be, before my door
Help me to leave, to die, O Lord

The Lonely Mountains

I’m awoken each night, there’s something I can feel
That rages in the room and does not leave

There are tracks in the mud, the dirt is rooted up

I wait out in the field for I’ve lost to appear
To spring up from the ground, to spring up through my heels
And the mountains, have they nothing to reveal?

I’m awoken in the night, is it the eel?
I hurl on the carpet, the feeling does not leave

There are tracks in the mud, the dirt is rooted up

I wait out in the field for I’ve lost to appear
To spring up from the ground, to spring up through my heels
And the mountains, have they nothing to reveal?

Can I Not Come To Thee?

Could not I come to Thee, Lord, for these
So very many hindrances
That slack my pace, yet not make me stay
Who slowly goes rids, in the end his way

Clear thou my paths, all these many miles
remove the bars, lift me o're the stiles  
since rough the way, help me when I call
and take me up, Lord, slow down my fall

Fain would I rest, yet covet not death
For fear of a future full of distress
No thou know'st all, of my wishes be
To leave this life not, loving it but Thee

By all the glories of the day
By that last sunset touch that lay
In the cool evening’s benison
Upon the hills where day was done

And blessings carelessly received
By all the days that I have lived
By beauty lavishly outpoured
Make me a man, a soldier, O Lord

When that I shall depart from all this
From all the things that I will miss
When death shall be, before my door
Help me to leave, to die, O Lord