The Gifts of God

My Soul! what hast thou done for God?
Look o'er thy misspent years and see;
Sum up what thou hast done for God,
And then what God hath done for thee.

He made thee when He might have made
A soul that would have loved Him more;
He rescued thee from nothingness,
And set thee on life's happy shore.

He placed an angel at thy side,
And strewed joys round thee on thy way;
He gave thee rights thou couldst not claim,
And life, free life, before thee lay.

Had God in Heaven no work to do
Bat miracles of love for thee?
No world to rule, no joy in Self,
And in His own infinity?

So must it seem to our blind eyes:
He gave His love no sabbath rest,
Still plotting happiness for men,
And new designs to make them blest.

From out His glorious Bosom came
His only, His Eternal Son;
He freed the race of Satan's slaves,
And with His Blood sin's captives won.

The world rose up against His love:
New love the vile rebellion met,
As though God only looked at sin
Its guilt to pardon and forget.

For His Eternal Spirit came
To raise the thankless slaves to sons,
And with the sevenfold gifts of love
To crown His own elected ones.

Men spurned His grace; their lips blasphemed
The Love who made Himself their slave;
They grieved that blessed Comforter,
And turned against Him what He gave.

Yet still the sun is fair by day,
The moon still beauti ful by night;
The world goes round, and joy with it,
And life, free life, is men's delight.

No voice God's wondrous silence breaks,
No hand put forth His anger tells;
But He, the Omnipotent and Dread,
On high in humblest

patience dwells.
The Son hath come; and maddened sin
The world's Creator crucified;
The Spirit comes, and stays, while men

His presence doubt, His gifts deride.
And now the Father keeps Himself,
In patient and forbearing love,
To be His creature's heritage

In that undying life above.
Oh wonderful, oh passing thought,
The love that God hath had for thee,
Spending on thee no less a sum

Than the Undivided Trinity!
Father, and Son, and Holy Ghost,
Exhausted for a thing like this, -
The world's whole government disposed

For one ungrateful creature's bliss!
What hast thou done for God, my soul?
Look o'er thy misspent years and see;
Cry from thy worse than nothingness,

Cry for His mercy upon thee.