Who doubts that thou art finite? Who
Is ignorant that from Godhead's height
To what is loftiest here below
The interval is infinite?
O Mary! with that smile thrice-blest
Upon their petulance look down;—
Their dull negation, cold protest—
Thy smile will melt away their frown!
Show them thy Son! That hour their heart
Will beat and burn with love like thine;
Grow large; and learn from thee that art
Which communes best with things divine.
The man who grasps not what is best
In creaturely existence, he
Is narrowest in the brain; and least
Can grasp the thought of Deity.