Thought for the Week Eighth Sunday After Trinity

When light creeps in through the chinks of the door
When the mist ascends from the mountain floor,
When the ocean shimmers like burnished ore,
Let me give the praise.
O God of the morning, Christ of the hills,
O Spirit who all the firmament fills,
O Trinity blest who all goodness wills,
Keep us all our days.
From ‘Morning’, an ancient Celtic poem