For the love of God is broader Than the measure of man's mind, And the heart of the Eternal Is most wonderfully kind. If our love were but more simple, We should take him at his word, And our lives would be all sunshine In the sweetness of our Lord.
Not what I am, O Lord, but what thou art, That, that alone, can be my soul's true rest; Thy love, not mine, bids fear and doubt depart, And stills the tempest of my tossing breast.
It is thy perfect love that casts out fear; I know the voice that speaks the "It is I." And in these well-known words of heavenly cheer I hear the joy that bids each sorrow fly.
Thy name is Love! I hear it from the Cross; Thy name is Love! I read it in yon tomb; All meaner love is perishable dross, But this shall light me through time's thickest gloom.
It blesses now, and shall forever bless; It saves me now, and shall forever save; It holds me up in days of helplessness, It bears me safely o'er each swelling wave.
Girt with the love of God on every side, Breathing that love as heaven's own healing air, I work or wait, still following my Guide, Braving each foe, escaping every snare.
'Tis what I know of thee my Lord and God, That fills my soul with peace, my lips with song; Thou art my health, my joy, my staff, my rod, Leaning on thee, in weakness I am strong.
I am all want and hunger; this faint heart Pines for a fullness which it finds not here, Dear ones are leaving, and as they depart, Make room within for something yet more dear.
More of thyself, oh, show me hour by hour More of thy glory, O my God and Lord! More of thyself in all thy grace and power More of thy love and truth, Incarnate Word.
Love that asketh love again Finds the barter naught but pain; Love that giveth in full store, Aye receives as much, and more.
Love, exacting nothing back, Never knoweth any lack; Love, compelling love to pay, Sees him bankrupt every day.
Such power there is in clear-eyed self-restraint And purpose clean as light from every selfish taint.
Surrounded by unnumbered foes, Against my soul the battle goes! Yet, though I weary, sore distrest, I know that I shall reach my rest. I lift my tearful eyes above; His banner over me is love.
Its sword my spirit will not yield, Though flesh may faint upon the field; He waves before my fading sight The branch of palm--the crown of light; I lift my brightening eyes above, His banner over me is love.