Father! in Thine eternal power-
Thy grace-and majesty Divine-
No soul, in this weak mortal hour,
Can grasp the glory that is Thine!
E'en in its thoughts of sovereign grace
It leaves us all far, far behind;
The love, that gives with Christ a place,
Surpasses our poor feeble mind!
And yet, that love is not unknown,
To those who have the Savior seen;
Nor strange, to those He calls His own-
Pilgrims, in scenes where He has been.
In Him, Thy perfect love revealed
Has led our hearts that love to trace
Where nothing of that love's concealed-
But meets us, in our lowly place!
But grace, the source of all our hope,
From Thine eternal Nature flows:
Could to our lost condition stoop,
And now, through Christ, no hindrance knows:
Has flowed, in fullest streams, below;
And opened to our hearts the place,
Where, in its ripened fruits, we'll know
The eternal blessings of that grace!
And here we walk, as sons through grace,
A Father's love our present joy:
Sons, in the brightness of Thy face,
Find rest, no sorrows can destroy!
Nor is the comfort of thy love,
In which we "Abba, Father," cry,
The only blessing that we prove;
Because that love is ever nigh-
A holy Father's constant care
Keeps watch, with an unwearying eye,
To see what fruits His children bear,
Fruits that may suit their calling high;
Takes ever knowledge of our state-
What dims communion with His love-
Might check our growth-or separate
Our hearts from what's revealed above.
Oh, wondrous Love! that ne'er forgets
The objects of its tender care:
May chasten still, while sin besets,
To warn and guard them where they are-
But ne'er forgets; but feeds them still
With tokens of His tender love;
Will keep, till, freed from every ill,
They find their rest with Him above!
Oh! wondrous, infinite, Divine!
Keep near, my soul, to that blest place.
Where all those heavenly glories shine
Which suit the brightness of His face!
O lowliness, how feebly known,
That meets the grace that gave the Son!
That waits, to serve Him as His own;
Till grace what grace began shall crown!