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; 
    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. 

Thou comest, much wept for: such a breeze 
    Compell'd thy canvas, and my prayer 
    Was as the whisper of an air 
To breathe thee over lonely seas.
For I in spirit saw thee move 
    Thro' circles of the bounding sky,  
    Week after week: the days go by:  
Come quick, thou bringest all I love.
Henceforth, wherever thou may'st roam, 
    My blessing, like a line of light, 
    Is on the waters day and night, 
And like a beacon guards thee home.
So may whatever tempest mars 
    Mid-ocean, spare thee, sacred bark; 
    And balmy drops in summer dark 
Slide from the bosom of the stars.
So kind an office hath been done, 
    Such precious relics brought by thee; 
    The dust of him I shall not see 
Till all my widow'd race be run.

'So careful of the type?' but no. 
    From scarped cliff and quarried stone 
    She cries, `A thousand types are gone: 
I care for nothing, all shall go.
'Thou makest thine appeal to me: 
    I bring to life, I bring to death: 
    The spirit does but mean the breath: 
I know no more.' And he, shall he,
Man, her last work, who seem'd so fair, 
    Such splendid purpose in his eyes, 
    Who roll'd the psalm to wintry skies, 
Who built him fanes of fruitless prayer,
Who trusted God was love indeed 
    And love Creation's final law- 
    Tho' Nature, red in tooth and claw 
With ravine, shriek'd against his creed-
Who loved, who suffer'd countless ills, 
    Who battled for the True, the Just, 
    Be blown about the desert dust, 
Or seal'd within the iron hills?
No more? A monster then, a dream, 
    A discord. Dragons of the prime, 
    That tare each other in their slime, 
Were mellow music match'd with him.
O life as futile, then, as frail! 
    O for thy voice to soothe and bless! 
    What hope of answer, or redress? 
Behind the veil, behind the veil.