God Is Love

God Is Love

In vain the troubled spirit hears the voice

Of justice, holiness, and power divine:
Call forth the joyous sound upon the ear,
A winter sun-beam on an icy heart.
There needs some better word, some summer beam
To touch the soul and melt it into peace.
But "God is love!" O then his goodness speaks:
Love does not seek a flaw on what it looks on,
To find itself excuse for casting off:
Love does not mete itself in cold proportion
To the poor merits of the things belov'd.
It does not come upon some costly promise,
And find itself mistaken, and depart;
It does not change with changing circumstance,
Loathing to-morrow what it chose to-day.
Love is forbearing, pitiful - rebukes
With tenderness the fault it would not see,
And seeing grieves, but never loves the less.
Unsought, unpaid, love finds itself an object,
And fondly takes the treasure to itself;
Tenders it gently, shelters it from harm,
Shares all its sorrows, and divides its joys.
Slighted, forsaken, how the watchful eye
The anxious heart goes after what it loves:
How gently bears the careless, cold repulse,
How patiently awaits the fond return,
Still willing and still longing to forgive.
And is HE thus? Is it from such a God
My trembling soul withholds itself in fear,
Doubting to trust him lest he cast me off?
We deal not so with one on earth who loves us,
Though all on earth is changeful, all uncertain,
In mortal bosoms even love may die.
But thou, immutable, eternal Being,
To whom there is no lapse of time or feeling;
Who can'st not form the purpose that thou hast not.
And can'st not change the purpose that thou hast
Thou that art changeless, and what now thou lovest
Hast always lov'd, and will love on forever!
O be thou to me only what Thou art,
And I will rest securely on thy name;
Content and willing that thy holy eye
Search every secret movement of my heart,
False as it is, for there is nothing in it
Thou did'st not know before thou said'st thou lov'st me,
Though still the flush of shame be on my cheeks,
And still the tear of sorrow in my eye,
And sin's enduring conflict in my bosom,
Yet will I fear them not - for "my beloved
Is mine and I am His" - and HE is GOD.

Mrs. Caroline Wilson (Caroline Fry)

New Series 2:14, p. 56

1841.06.05