We touch him in life's throng and press, And we are whole again. Through him the first fond prayers are said Our lips of childhood frame, The last low whispers of our dead Are burdened with his name. O Lord and Master of us all! Whate'er our name or sign, We own thy sway, we hear thy call, We test our lives by thine. Thou judgest us; thy purity Doth all our lusts condemn; The love that draws us nearer thee Is hot with wrath to them. Our thoughts lie open to thy sight; Thy healing pains, a keen distress Yet, weak and blinded though we be, To thee our full humanity, Its joys and pains, belong; Who hates hates thee, who loves be comes Therein to thee allied; All sweet accords of hearts and homes In thee are multiplied. Deep strike thy roots, O heavenly Vine, O Love! O Life! Our faith and sight So, to our mortal eyes subdued, Flesh-veiled, but not concealed, We know in thee the fatherhood And heart of God revealed. We faintly hear, we dimly see, In differing phrase we pray; The homage that we render thee Divides the Cross and Throne. To do thy will is more than praise, As words are less than deeds, And simple trust can find thy ways We miss with chart of creeds. No pride of self thy service hath, Our life, apart from thine. Apart from thee all gain is loss, All labor vainly done; The solemn shadow of thy Cross Is better than the sun. Alone, O Love ineffable! Thy saving name is given; To turn aside from thee is hell, To walk with thee is heaven! How vain, secure in all thou art, Our noisy championship! - Not thine the bigot's partial plea, |