Puslapio vaizdai
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LONDON:

BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.

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STRONG Son of God, immortal Love,

Whom we, that have not seen thy face,
By faith, and faith alone, embrace,

Believing where we cannot prove;

Thine are these orbs of light and shade;
Thou madest Life in man and brute;
Thou madest Death; and lo, thy foot

Is on the skull which thou hast made.

Thou wilt not leave us in the dust:

Thou madest man, he knows not why; He thinks he was not made to die; And thou hast made him: thou art just.

:

Thou seemest human and divine,

The highest, holiest manhood, thou:

Our wills are ours, we know not how;

Our wills are ours, to make them thine.

Our little systems have their day;

They have their day and cease to be : They are but broken lights of thee, And thou, O Lord, art more than they.

We have but faith: we cannot know ;

For knowledge is of things we see ;
And yet we trust it comes from thee,

A beam in darkness: let it grow.

Let knowledge grow from more to more, But more of reverence in us dwell; That mind and soul, according well,

May make one music as before,

But vaster. We are fools and slight;

We mock thee when we do not fear: But help thy foolish ones to bear; Help thy vain worlds to bear thy light.

Forgive what seem'd my sin in me;

What seem'd my worth since I began;

For merit lives from man to man,

And not from man, O Lord, to thee.

Forgive my grief for one removed,

Thy creature, whom I found so fair.
I trust he lives in thee, and there

I find him worthier to be loved.

Forgive these wild and wandering cries,
Confusions of a wasted youth;
Forgive them where they fail in truth,

And in thy wisdom make me wise.

1849.

IN MEMORIAM

A. H. H.

OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII.

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