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Loquitur Thorold
BUT my Faith is not gone, although | |
| At times it seems to fade away. | |
| I would I were as long ago; | |
| I cling to God, and strive to say, | |
| The devil and all his reasons Nay: | 5 |
| But in the crucible of thought | |
| Old forms dissolve, nor have I got, | |
| Or seem to wish, new moulds of clay | |
| To limit the boundless truth I sought. | |
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| Can the great God be aught but vague, | 10 |
| Bounded by no horizon, save | |
| What feeble minds create to plague | |
| High Reason with? We madly crave | |
| For definite truth, and make a grave, | |
| Through too much certainty precise, | 15 |
| And logical distinction nice, | |
| For all the little Faith we have, | |
| Buying clear views at a terrible price. | |
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| Too dear, indeed, to part with Faith | |
| For forms of logic about God, | 20 |
| And walk in lucid realms of death, | |
| Whose paths incredible are trod | |
| By no soul living. Faith’s abode | |
| Is mystery for evermore; | |
| Its life to worship and adore, | 25 |
| And meekly bow beneath the rod, | |
| When the day is dark, and the burden sore. | |
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