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176 FABER'S HYMNS.
Thou hast dealt better measure to hope than to faith ;
Hope can hope for no more, since it hopes, Lord ! for Thee; Naught is lacking to love which has fastened on God;
It is love lost in love like a drop in the sea.
But faith throws her arms around all Thou hast told her, And, able to hold as much more, can but grieve; She could hold Thy grand Self, Lord! if Thou wouldst reveal it, And love makes her long to have more to believe.
THE OLD LABORER.
What end doth he fulfil ?
He seems without a will, Stupid, unhelpful, helpless, age-worn man !
He hath let the years pass ;
He hath toiled, and heard Mass, Done what he could, and now does what he can.
And this forsooth is all!
A plant or animal Hath a more positive work to do than he :
Along his daily beat,
Delighting in the heat, He crawls in sunshine which he does not see.