O GOD, O Kinsman loved, but not enough,
O Man, with eyes majestic after death,
Whose feet have toiled along our pathways rough.
Whose lips drawn human breath.
Come, lest this heart should, cold and cast away,
Die ere the Guest adored she entertain,
Lest eyes which never saw Thine earthly day
Should miss Thy heavenly reign.
O TRUTH who art Eternity! And Love who art Truth! And Eternity who art Love! Thou art my God, and to Thee do I sigh night and day. When I first knew Thee, Thou liftedst me up, that I might see there was somewhat for me to see, and that I was not yet such as to see. And Thou streaming forth Thy beams of light upon me most strongly, didst beat back the weakness of my sight, and I trembled with love and awe: and I perceived myself to be far off from Thee in the region of unlikeness.
LOVE is its own perennial fount of strength. The strength of love is a proof not of the worthiness of the object, but of the largeness of the soul which loves. Love descends, not ascends. The might of a river depends not on the quality of the soil through which it passes, but on the inexhaustibleness and depth of the spring from which it proceeds. A parent loves the child more than the child loves the parent; and partly because the parent’s heart is larger, not because the child is worthier.
Frederick W. Robertson