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H! never, never canst thou know
What then for thee the Saviour bore;
The pangs of that mysterious woe
His frame at every pore ;
THE LOVE OF CHRIST.
But fainter than the pale star's ray
REV. T. DALE. VENI CREATOR.
THOU who, as our knowledge grows
In the world's latter days,
The more Thou seem'st to clear the sky, The more dost hide Thy face :
As ever-widening search reveals
The depth and breadth of ill
And sweeping o'er us still :
As science, forging day by day
Her close-link'd chain, withdraws The once-felt touches of Thy hand
For dumb organic laws :
As fears of change, and fears of doubt,
Unnerve the o'erwrought mind,
'Mid all its seeing blind :
The wider wisdom Thou hast giv'n
Yet is not wholly gain ;
We cannot see Thee plain.
Enlarge our hearts and purge our eyes
To bear Thy nearer light !
Make us to know Thee right.
FRANCIS T. PALGRAVE.
ABY JESUS, who dost lie
Far above that stormy sky,
In Thy mother's pure caress, Stoop and save the motherless.
Happy birds ! whom Jesus leaves
All without is mean and small,