O how the thought of God at­tracts
And draws the heart from earth,
And sick­ens it of pass­ing shows
And dis­si­pat­ing mirth!

’Tis not enough to save our souls,
To shun the eter­nal fires;
The thought of God will rouse the heart
To more sub­lime de­sires.

God on­ly is the crea­ture’s home,
Though long and rough the road;
Yet no­thing less can sa­tis­fy
The love that longs for God.

O ut­ter but the name of God,
Down in your heart of hearts,
And see how from the world at once
All tempt­ing light de­parts.

A trust­ing heart, a yearn­ing eye,
Can win their way above;
If mount­ains can be moved by faith,
Is there less pow­er in love?

How lit­tle of that road, my soul!
How litt­le hast thou gone!
Take heart, and let the thought of God
Allure thee fur­ther on.

The free­dom all will­ful sin,
The Chris­tian’s dai­ly task,
O these are grac­es far be­low
What long­ing love would ask!

Dole not thy du­ties out to God,
But let thy hand be free:
Look long at Je­sus; His sweet blood,
How was it dealt to thee?

The perfect way is hard to flesh;
It is not hard to love;
If thou wert sick for want of God,
How swift­ly wouldst thou move!

Good is the clois­ter’s silent shade,
Cold watch and pin­ing fast;
Better the mis­sion’s wear­ing strife,
If there thy lot be cast.

Yet none of these per­fect­ion needs:
Keep thy heart calm all day,
And catch the words the Spir­it there
From hour to hour may say.

O keep thy con­science sen­si­tive;
No in­ward tok­en miss;
And go where grace en­tic­es thee;
Perfection lies in this.

Be do­cile to thine un­seen guide,
Love Him as He loves thee;
Time and obe­di­ence are enough,
And thou a saint shall be!