I would like to share with you some words from Mr. John Donne, a seventeenth century Anglican clergyman and poet.
"Deign at my hands this crown of prayer and praise,
Weaved in my low devout melencholy,
Thou which of good, hast, yea art treasury,
All changing unchanged Ancient of days;
But do not, with a vile crown of frail bays,
Reward my muses white sincerity,
But what thy thorny crown gained, that give me,
A crown of glory, which doth flower always;
The ends crown our works, but thou crownest our ends,
For, at our end begins our endless rest;
The first last end, now zealously possessed,
With a strong sober thirst, my soul attends.
'Tis time that heart and voice be lifted high,
Salvation to all that will is nigh."