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It is my wish that with Messrs. TICKNOR AND FIELDS alone the right of publishing my books in America should
STRONG Son of God, immortal Love, Whom we, that have not seen thy face By faith, and faith alone, embrace, Believing where we cannot prove!
Thine are these orbs of light and shade; Thou madest Life in man and brute; Thou madest Death; and lo! thy foot Is on the skull which thou hast made.
Thou wilt not leave us in the dust:
Thou madest man, he knows not why; He thinks he was not made to die; And thou hast made him: thou art just.
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;
Let knowledge grow from more to more,
But vaster. We are fools and slight;
Forgive what seemed my sin in me;
What seemed 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.
Forgive these wild and wandering cries,
Forgive them where they fail in truth,