First Sunday after Epiphany

My Saviour! how my soul admires
The wisdom of Thy youth to see,
Yet still, with holier desires.
Longs more for Thy humility.

Sweet are the gracious words which fell
Where sages wonder and approve.
But sweeter far than these, than all.
The accents of Thy filial love.

Thy Father's business must he done
At duty's call, hut still Thou art
Loth, as a true and tender Son,
To grieve Thy gentle mother's heart.

Back to her lowly cot dost Thou
With child-like heart and steps return.
Beneath her loving sway to how.
And from her ponder'd teaching learn;

To wait while time with progress slow
Prepares Thee for Thy mission high,
Then forth into the world to go.
To teach, to suffer, and to die.

Blest he Thy love! Thou Saviour dear!
Thy thoughtful love for ever blest!
Which unto man doth stoop so near
To make Thy goodness manifest.

The greatness of that mighty love
Which does not little things despise.
But to he meek and good would prove
Is to be truly great and wise.

Blest he that love! and blest the homes
Where, taught by Thine example true.
Childhood is train'd till manhood comes.
And leads us forth Thy will to do.