God is Love

Thou! at whose touch the snow-clad mountains smoke, Eternal wisdom! touch my lips prophane! O! touch my heart! my heart, tho' cold, shall glow, My lips breathe eloquence divine! for not Of earth, in earth-born strains, I mean to sing Adventurous, but of thee! thy love alone Thy wisdom knows, thy love my awful theme! Let me not err, low grovelling in the dust, Let me not fall, high towering in the sky— O! where shall I begin? how trace the source Of all! how fathom vast immensity!

Long as the God has been who ne'er began, Trac'd back and backward still, but trac'd in vain, Love has so long existed; God is Love! Who name him other, know not yet his name; And if they seek him, lost in error's gloom Or superstition's labyrinth, find him not.

Whate'er the glimmering lamp of reason show'd Of God, thro' pagan darkness, all was love; Whate'er the bright effulgence of thy Son, Blest revelation! has display'd, all still Is love! this pendent world, those rolling orbs, Nature's whole system speaks its Maker kind.

The varied fruits and flowers, the pleasing change Of day and night, the painted landscape round Of hill and dale, clear fountain, shady wood, The glittering dew of morn, the crimson'd cloud Of evening mild, the sweetly varied song, The peopled earth, and air, and sea, all parts Of one stupendous whole, and fram'd for bliss, Proclaim him good—Lord of this blest domain, Not male alone, but male and female form'd, When man receiv'd the breath of life, and took The stamp divine, the image of the God, What gift was each to each! how lovely both! Who can their form describe? or who conceive Consummate beauty, test of skill divine? Thrice happy pair!—to late degenerate times Your morn and evening song had some blest bard Transmitted fair, in strains by heaven inspir'd, These had the gloomy bigot read abash'd, And own'd, that God is Love. But man, alas! Fell from the perfect beauty, pure desire, Fell to deformity, and age, and death, And hate, and envy, violence and guilt. He fell; yet unremitted goodness spoke To man, apostate as he was, the words Of peace; gave misery hope, and show'd above A brighter paradise, than Eden's groves, His portion, when the Woman's promis'd Seed Should bruise the serpent's head: amazing grace! The promis'd Seed was given; the fullness then Of Godhead dwelt in flesh! high heaven itself No more contains th' astonishment and joy, But down its radiant hosts impatient pour And Peace proclaim on earth, Good Will to man. Oh! join the transports of th' angelic choir, And sing, responding to the hallow'd strain, To God be Glory—But, tremendous scene! Whom do I see, in yon drear waste, forlorn! Whom tempted there!—who stretch'd on earth sweats blood! What ruffian hand is that? whom do they drag Betray'd, insulted, thro' a scoffing crowd? Whom do they scourge! whom crown with thorns remorseless! Yet hold, barbarians—snatch me from the sight, Ye whirlwinds! crush me, mountains—dreadful! Horrid! on the cross they strain, they nail The lord of life! they rear it! hark he prays— " Father forgive, they know not what they do"— Stupendous! what is language! what is thought! Astonish'd nature trembles! from the graves The dead come forth! rocks rend! the sun withholds The day!—'tis past! the Saviour groans, and dies!— Oh! let me, bending to the dust, dissolve In silent admiration! let my soul Attest, in unexpressive thought, that God Is Love! and dare I, dare a groveling worm Rejoice in scenes like these?—O teach me, thou My Saviour! teach me to divide aright My love, and awe; my joy, and grief; O teach My soul the trembling hope, the humble trust, To feel in gratitude, that God is Love!