Sometimes I have an awful thought

Sometimes I have an awful thought
That bids me do the thing I ought,
It comes Hke wind, it burns Hke flame,
How shall I give that thought a name?
It draws me like a loving kiss —
My soul says, There is more than this.

I dreamed an angel of the Lord,
With purple wings and golden sword.
And such a splendour in his face
As made a glory in the place;
I thought, How beautiful he is! —
My soul said, There is more than this.

That angel's Lord I cannot see
Or hear, but He is Lord to me;
And in the heavens, and earth, and skies, —
The good which lives till evil dies, —
The love which I cannot withstand, —
God writes His name with His own hand.