I cannot look upon Him
So strangely burn His eyes—
Hath not some grieving drawn Him
From Paradise?
For Thee, for Thee I'd live, Lord!
Yet oft I almost fall
Before Him—Oh, forgive, Lord,
My sinful thrall!
But e'en when He was nursing,
A baby at my breast,
It seemed He was dispersing
The world's unrest.
Thou bad'st me call Him "Jesus"
And from our heavy sin
I know He shall release us,
From Sheol win.
But, Lord, forgive! the yearning
That He may sometimes be
Like other children, learning
Beside my knee,
Or playing, prattling, seeking
For help,—comes to my heart....
Ah sinful, Lord, I'm speaking—
How good Thou art!
[OUTCAST]
I did not fear,
But crept close up to Christ and said,
"Is He not here?"