Page:Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier (1895).djvu/476

444  He is His own best evidence,
 * His witness is within.

No fable old, nor mythic lore,
 * Nor dream of bards and seers,

No dead fact stranded on the shore
 * Of the oblivious years;—

But warm, sweet, tender, even yet
 * A present help is He;

And faith has still its Olivet,
 * And love its Galilee.

The healing of His seamless dress
 * Is by our beds of pain;

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.

Our 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;
 * And, naked to Thy glance,

Our secret sins are in the light
 * Of Thy pure countenance.

Thy healing pains, a keen distress
 * Thy tender light shines in;

Thy sweetness is the bitterness,
 * Thy grace the pang of sin.

Yet, weak and blinded though we be,
 * Thou dost our service own;

We bring our varying gifts to Thee,
 * And Thou rejectest none.

To Thee our full humanity,
 * Its joys and pains, belong;

The wrong of man to man on Thee
 * Inflicts a deeper wrong.

Who hates, hates Thee, who loves becomes
 * Therein to Thee allied;

All sweet accords of hearts and homes
 * In Thee are multiplied.

Deep strike Thy roots, O heavenly Vine,
 * Within our earthly sod,

Most human and yet most divine,
 * The flower of man and God!

O Love! O Life! Our faith and sight
 * Thy presence maketh one,

As through transfigured clouds of white
 * We trace the noon-day sun.

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;

But, dim or clear, we own in Thee
 * The Light, the Truth, the Way!

The homage that we render Thee
 * Is still our Father’s own;

No jealous claim or rivalry
 * 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,
 * No place for me and mine;

Our human strength is weakness, death
 * 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!

The sighing of the contrite heart
 * Is more than flattering lip.

Not Thine the bigot’s partial plea,
 * Nor Thine the zealot’s ban;