DEAR LORD ALFRED TENNYSON....
THE WORD OF GOD IS NEVER DONE
IT SPEAKS FROM AGE TO AGE THE SAME
HIS SPIRIT IS THE LIVING FLAME
THE WIND THAT BLOWS, WE KNOW NOT WHERE
FROM SOUL TO SOUL, ON BREATH OF AIR
TO BRING A WORD OF LIFE TO BE
THE FAITH THAT MAKES ME JUST LIKE THEE
STILL MORTAL, YET WITH PROMISE RARE
THE SON OF GOD WE RIGHTLY SHARE
IN ALL HIS GLORY AND HIS POWER
TOGETHER IN THAT WONDROUS HOUR
WHEN SAINTS MADE PERFECT SING "ALL PRAISE"
ETERNAL SONGS OF ANCIENT DAYS
IT FILLS THE VOID OF HUMAN HEARTS
THAT LIFE AND LOVE KNEW FROM THE START
WE'D BE OF HIS OWN FAMILY
ONE IN CHRIST...ETERNALLY...............jOY
In Memorial A.H.H.
By Alfred, Lord Tennyson
STRONG Son of God, immortal Love, 1849
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;
For knowledge is of things we see;
And yet we trust it comes from thee,
A beam in darkness: let it grow.
Let knowledge grow from more to more,
But more of reverence in us dwell;
That mind and soul, according well,
May make one music as before,
But vaster. We are fools and slight;
We mock thee when we do not fear:
But help thy foolish ones to bear;
Help thy vain worlds to bear thy light.
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,
Confusions of a wasted youth;
Forgive them where they fail in truth,
And in thy wisdom make me wise.