 | The poetical works of Lucy Larcom |  |
THE INMOST ONE.
How near to me, my God, Thou art!
Felt in the throbbing of my heart,
Nearer than my own thoughts to me:
Nothing is real, without Thee!
Felt in the throbbing of my heart,
Nearer than my own thoughts to me:
Nothing is real, without Thee!
Thy perfect light makes morning fair,
Thy breath is freshness in the air;
The glory Thou of star and sun,
Thou Souls of souls, Thou Inmost One!
Thy breath is freshness in the air;
The glory Thou of star and sun,
Thou Souls of souls, Thou Inmost One!
With feverish restlessness and pain
We strive to shut Thee out, in vain;
To darkened heart and rebel will
Thou art the one clear Dayspring still.
We strive to shut Thee out, in vain;
To darkened heart and rebel will
Thou art the one clear Dayspring still.
Eyes art Thou unto us, the blind;
We turn to Thee, ourselves to find;
We set ajar no door of prayer
But Thou art waiting entrance there.
We turn to Thee, ourselves to find;
We set ajar no door of prayer
But Thou art waiting entrance there.
Within me,—nearer far than near,—
Through every thought Thy voice I hear:
My whole life welcomes Thy control,
Immanuel! God within my soul!
Through every thought Thy voice I hear:
My whole life welcomes Thy control,
Immanuel! God within my soul!
Thou fillest my being's hidden springs,
Thou givest my wishes heavenward wings;
I live Thy life, I breathe Thy breath;
Nor part nor lot have I with death.
Thou givest my wishes heavenward wings;
I live Thy life, I breathe Thy breath;
Nor part nor lot have I with death.
| The poetical works of Lucy Larcom | |