Seven vials hold Thy wrath: but what can hold

Seven vials hold Thy wrath: but what can hold
Thy mercy save Thine own Infinitude
Boundlessly overflowing with all good,
All lovingkindness, all delights untold?
Thy Love, of each created love the mould;
Thyself, of all the empty plenitude;
Heard of at Ephrata, found in the Wood,
For ever One, the Same, and Manifold.
Lord, give us grace to tremble with that dove
Which Ark-bound winged its solitary way
And over past the Deluge in a day,
Whom Noah’s hand pulled in and comforted:
For we who much more hang upon Thy Love
Behold its shadow in the deed he did.