How high Thou art! our songs can own No music Thou couldst stoop to hear! But still the Son's expiring groan Is vocal in the Father's ear. How pure Thou art! our hands are dyed With curses, red with murder's hue -- But HE hath stretched HIS hands to hide The sins that pierced them from thy view. How strong Thou art! we tremble lest The thunders of thine arm be moved -- But HE is lying on thy breast, And Thou must clasp thy best Beloved! How kind Thou art! Thou didst not choose To joy in Him for ever so; But that embrace Thou wilt not loose For vengeance, didst for love forego! High God, and pure, and strong, and kind! The low, the foul, the feeble, spare! Thy brightness in his face we find -- Behold our darkness only there! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LINES TO A MOVEMENT IN MOZART'S E-FLAT SYMPHONY by THOMAS HARDY GEORGE MOSES HORTON, MYSELF by GEORGE MOSES HORTON TO THE MEMORY OF MY BELOVED MASTER WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE by BEN JONSON MORE WALKS by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM THE BURGHERS OF CALAIS by EMILY A. BRADDOCK RED COTTON NIGHT-CAP COUNTRY; OR, TURF AND TOWERS: PART 3 by ROBERT BROWNING |