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TO |
FABER'S HYMNS. |
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No wonder Saints have died of love,
No wonder hearts can break, Pure hearts that once have learned to love
God for His own dear sake.
O listen, then, Most Pitiful!
To Thy poor creature's heart; It blesses Thee that Thou art God,
That Thou art what Thou art!
Most ancient of all mysteries !
Still at Thy throne we lie; Have mercy now, most merciful,
Most holy Trinity! |
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THE ETERNITY OF GOD.
O Lord ! my heart is sick, Sick of this everlasting change;
And life runs tediously quick Through its unresting race and varied range Change finds no likeness to itself in Thee, And wakes no echo in Thy mute eternity.
Dear Lord ! my heart is sick Of this perpetual lapsing time,
So slow in grief, in joy so quick, Yet ever casting shadows so sublime: |
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