J. M.

THE THOUGHT OF GOD

The thought of God, the thought of thee,
Who liest near my heart,
And yet beyond imagined space
Outstretched and present art--

The thought of thee, above, below,
Around me and within,
Is more to me than health and wealth,
Or love of kith and kin.

The thought of God is like the tree
Beneath whose shade I lie
And watch the fleet of snowy clouds
Sail o'er the silent sky.

'Tis like that soft invading light
Which in all darkness shines,
The thread that through life's somber web
In golden pattern twines.

It is a thought which ever makes
Life's sweetest smiles from tears,
It is a daybreak to our hopes,
A sunset to our fears.

Within a thought so great, our souls
Little and modest grow,
And, by its vastness awed, we learn
The art of walking slow.

The wild flower on the grassy mound
Scarce bends its pliant form
When overhead the autumnal wood
Is thundering like a storm.

So is it with our humbled souls,
Down in the thought of God,
Scarce conscious in their sober peace
Of the wild storms abroad.

To think of thee is almost prayer,
And is outspoken praise;
And pain can even passive thoughts
To actual worship raise.

All murmurs lie inside thy will
Which are to thee addressed;
To suffer for thee is our work,
To think of thee, our rest.

--Frederick William Faber.

Let thy sweet presence light my way,
And hallow every cross I bear;
Transmuting duty, conflict, care,
Into love's service day by day.

OUR HEAVENLY FATHER

My God, how wonderful thou art,
Thy majesty how bright,
How beautiful thy mercy seat
In depths of burning light!

How dread are thine eternal years,
O everlasting Lord,
By prostrate spirits, day and night,
Incessantly adored.

How beautiful, how beautiful
The sight of thee must be,
Thine endless wisdom, boundless power,
And awful purity!

O how I fear thee, living God!
With deepest, tenderest fears,
And worship thee with trembling hope
And penitential tears.

Yet I may love thee too, O Lord!
Almighty as thou art,
For thou hast stooped to ask of me
The love of this poor heart.

Oh, then, this worse than worthle