The Love of God

How can I love Thee, God that madest me?
Who saith he loves Thee, lies!
Behold him, mouthing on his bended knee,
Upgazing to the skies!
Thy works, Thy wonders, Thine Omnipotence?
Shall these awake my love?
Nay, these are only phantoms of the sense
Whereby I live and move!
Thy mercies and Thy gifts? — Thy large delight
In making living things?
Love is not born of any token bright
Imperial Nature brings.
I love my fellow men, I love this hound
Who gently licks my hand,
I love the land around me, and the sound
Of children in the land.
But Thee f I love not Thee!— Stoop down, come near
To me whom Thou hast made,
Then I may know Thee close, and hold Thee dear,—
But now I shrink afraid.
There's never a helpless thing surrounding me,
No timid bird or beast,
I love not better far, O God, than Thee,
Tho' Thou be first, these least.
I love the maid I woo, the mother whose touch
I feel upon my brow,
The friend who grips my hand!— for these are such
As I, and not as Thou.
Thou Vision of my Thought! Thou
Mystery
Of which men preach and rave!
I would not look, if Heaven held only Thee,
One foot beyond the grave!
I seek the gentle ones who once were near,
Not Thee, O light above, —
I crave for all who learn'd to love me here
And whom I learn'd to love!
Out of Thy Darkness to this Light I came,
Thro' whim or wish of Thine,
O Miracle! O God unknown! O Name
Eternal and Divine!
And since Thy Glory fills these nights and days
That are so fugitive,
I give Thee thanks, O God, I give Thee praise,
But love I cannot give!