vi Thou seemest human and divine, The highest, holiest manhood, thou: Our wills are ours, we know not how ; Our wills are ours, to make them thine. Our little systems have their day; They have their day and cease to be: They are but broken lights of thee, And thou, O Lord, art more than they. We have but faith: we cannot know; And yet we trust it comes from thee, A beam in darkness: let it grow. Let knowledge grow from more to more, That mind and soul, according well, May make one music as before, Forgive what seem'd my sin in me; What seem'd my worth since I began ; For merit lives from man to man, And not from man. O Lord, to thee. Forgive my grief for one removed, Thy creature, whom I found so fair. I trust he lives in thee, and there I find him worthier to be loved. Forgive these wild and wandering cries, Forgive them where they fail in truth, And in thy wisdom make me wise. 1840. |