It is the greatness of Thy love, dear Lord

It is the greatness of Thy love, dear Lord,
that we would celebrate
With sevenfold powers.
Our love at best is cold and poor, at best unseemly
for Thy state,
This best of ours.
Creatures that die, we yet are such as Thine own
hands deigned to create:
We frail as flowers,
We bitter bondslaves ransomed at a price incomparably
great
To grace Heaven’s bowers.