A Hymn

A Hymn

Jesus! the ladder of my faith

Rests on the jasper walls of heaven;

And through the veiling clouds I catch

Faint visions of the mystic seven!

The glory of the rainbowed throne

Illumes those clouds like lambent flame;

As once, on earth, Thy love divine

Burned through the robes of human shame.

Thou art the same, O, gracious Lord!

The same dear Christ that thou wert then;

And all the praises angels sing

Delight Thee less than prayers of men.

We have no tears Thou wilt not dry;

We have no wounds Thou wilt not heal;

No sorrows pierce our human hearts

That thou, dear Savior, dost not feel.

Thy pity, like the dew, distils;

And Thy compassion, like the light,

Our every morning overfills,

And crowns the stars our every night.

Let not the world's rude conflict drown

The charmed music of Thy voice,

That calls all weary one's to rest,

And bids all morning souls rejoice!

Harriet M'Ewen Kimball

1:13, p. 1

10.15.1859