On faith's mysterious heights you stand, And reach and grasp the Father's hand. Oh, with that access bold and free, Place a petition there for me! I grope in fogs. Your vision, clear In faith's serener atmosphere, Oh, use victoriously for me, And paint the heaven I cannot see! Too cold my tongue, too dull my ear, Earth's nobler words to speak or hear. Oh, while I learn the lower song, Sing you for me in heaven's throng! Still for myself I'll work and pray, And toil along my blundering way; But doubled all my strength will be If you, O friend, will pray for me! |