Sixteenth Sunday after Trinity

Love of Christ which passeth knowledge,'
That is what I long for most,
Till I feel that I possess it,
Every hour of time is lost:
I have but its cold resemblance,
All the life of Life is dead,
If within my heart I feel not
That which plays around my head.

I can see and understand it,
And my tongue hath often told
Others of its priceless beauty,
Still my heart seems dead and cold:
I must know it, I must feel it,
More alas: than now I do,
Else Religions best convictions
Soon themselves may seem untrue.

Deeper, higher, fuller teachings,
Than the lips of man can give,
Must be mine, or else I have not
More than the mere name to live
Just like one to whom, while sleeping,
Shadows all so real seem;
But who finds, upon awaking,
It has only been a dream.

What I want — is something real,
More than man to man can tell,
Substance of the fair ideal,
Christ within my heart to dwell!
That abiding, deep experience —
Which no change or chance can move,
Of their blessing — who are settled,
'Rooted,' ' grounded in His Love: —

Till my heart, in large communion
'With all saints,' doth ' comprehend'
'Breadth, and length, and depth, and height'
Of a Love, that knows no end:
i Love of Christ which passeth knowledge!'
Let me from that well-spring drink;
Fill me Father with its ' fulness,'
More than I can i ask or think.'