True Love

Think well how Jesus trusts Himself
Unto our childish love,
As though by His free ways with us
Our earnestness to prove.

God gives Himself as Mary's Babe
To sinners trembling arms,
And veils His everlasting light
In childhood's feeble charms..

His sacred Name a common word
On earth He loves to hear;
There is no majesty in Him
Which love may not come near.

His priests, they bear Him in their hands,
Helpless as babe can be;
His love seems very foolishness
For its simplicity.

The light of love is round His feet,
His paths are never dim;
And He comes nigh to us when we
Dare not come nigh to Him.

Let us be simple with Him then,
Not backward, stiff, or cold,
As though our Bethlehem could be
What Sina was of old.

His love of us may teach us how
To love Him in return;
Love cannot help but grow more free
The more its transports burn.

The solemn face, the downcast eye,
The words constrained and cold,
These are the homage, poor at best,
Of those outside the fold.

They know not how our God can play
The Babe's, the Brother's part;
Thy dream not of the ways He has
Of getting at the heart.

Most winningly He lowers Himself,
Yet they dare not come near:
They cannot know in their blind place
The love that casts out fear.

In lowest depths of littleness
God sinks to gain our love;
They put away the sign in fear,
And our free ways reprove.

Would that they knew what Jesus was,
And what untold abyss
Lies in Love's simple forwardness
Of more than earthly bliss!

Would that they knew what faith can work,
W T hat Sacraments can do,
What simple love is like, on fire
In hearts absolved and true!

They cannot tell how Jesus oft
His secret thirst will slake
On those strange freedoms childlike hearts
Are taught by God to take.

Poor souls! they know not how to love;
They feel not Jesus near;
And they who know not how to love
Still less know how to fear.

The humbling of the Incarnate Word
They have not faith to face;
And how shall they who have not faith
Attain love's better grace?

The awe that lies too deep for words,
Too deep for solemn looks, -
It finds no way into the face,
No written vent in books.

They would not speak in measured tones,
If love had in them wrought
Until their spirits had been hushed
In reverential thought.

They would have smiled in harmless ways
To ease their fevered heart,
And learn with other simple souls
To play love's crafty part.

They would have run away from God
For their own vileness sake,
And feared lest some interior light
From tell-tale eyes should break.

They know not how the outward smile
The inward awe can prove;
They fathom not the creature's fear
Of Uncreated Love.

The majesty of God ne'er broke
On them like fire at night,
Flooding their stricken souls, while they
Lay trembling in the light.

They love not; for they have not kissed
The Saviour's outer hem:
They fear not; for the Living God
Is yet unknown to them.