Thy voice is as a balm for all their woes;
Through twenty centuries it calleth plain
As when it breathed the invitation blest—
"Ye weary, come to Me, and I will give you rest."
Reason may seek to ruin, science scorn,
But that great love of Thine hath made us wise
In wisdom not of understanding born,
That bids us turn to Thee with longing eyes
And outstretched hands. We know that Thou art He.
Nor do we seek a sign as did the Pharisee.