No worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief
Duration - 3:00
Instrumentation - Tenor + Piano

Text by Gerard Manley Hopkins:

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No worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief, 

More pangs will, schooled at forepangs, wilder wring. 

Comforter, where, where is your comforting? 

Mary, mother of us, where is your relief? 

My cries heave, herds-long; huddle in a main, a chief- 

Woe, wórld-sorrow; on an áge-old ánvil wínce and síng — 

Then lull, then leave off. Fury had shrieked 'No ling- 

Ering! Let me be fell: force I must be brief.'

O the mind, mind has mountains; cliffs of fall 

Frightful, sheer, no-man-fathomed. Hold them cheap 

May who ne'er hung there. Nor does long our small 

Durance deal with that steep or deep. Here! creep, 

Wretch, under a comfort serves in a whirlwind: all 

Life death does end and each day dies with sleep.