Near, so very near to God,
Nearer I cannot be;
For in the person of his Son
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Near, so very near to God,
Nearer I cannot be;
For in the person of his Son
I am as near as he.
So dear, so very dear to God,
More dear I cannot be;
The love wherewith he loves the Son -
Such is his love to me.

And Jesus saith unto him, The foxes have holes, and the birds of
the air have nests; but the read more

And Jesus saith unto him, The foxes have holes, and the birds of
the air have nests; but the Son of man hath not where to lay his
head.

His love at once and dread instruct our thought;
As man He suffer'd and as God He taught.

His love at once and dread instruct our thought;
As man He suffer'd and as God He taught.

Into the woods, my Master went,
Clean forspent, forspent,
Into the woods my Master came,
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Into the woods, my Master went,
Clean forspent, forspent,
Into the woods my Master came,
Forspent with love and shame.
But the olives they were not blind to Him,
The little gray leaves were kind to Him:
The thorn-tree had a mind to Him,
When into the woods He came.

The Pilot of the Galilean Lake.

The Pilot of the Galilean Lake.

A pagan heart, a Christian soul had he.
He followed Christ, yet for dead Pan he sighed,
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A pagan heart, a Christian soul had he.
He followed Christ, yet for dead Pan he sighed,
As if Theocritus in Sicily
Had come upon the Figure crucified,
And lost his gods in deep, Christ-given rest.

There is a green hill far away,
Without a city wall,
Where the dear Lord was crucified
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There is a green hill far away,
Without a city wall,
Where the dear Lord was crucified
Who died to save us all.

Every pang that rends the heart.

Every pang that rends the heart.

Therefore, friends,
As far as to the sepulchre of Christ--
Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross
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Therefore, friends,
As far as to the sepulchre of Christ--
Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross
We are impressed and engaged to fight--
Fourthwith a power of English shall we levy,
Whose arms were moulded in their mother's womb
To chase these pagans in those holy fields
Over whose acres walked those blessed feet
Which fourteen hundred years ago were nailed
For our advantage on the bitter cross.