  “From every point on earth we are equally near to heaven and the infinite.”—Henri Amiel. OUT of the depths that are to us so deep, Up to the heights so hopelessly above, Past storms that intervene and winds that sweep, Unto thine ear, O pitying Lord of love, We send our cry for aid, doubtful and half afraid If thou, so very far, canst hear us or canst aid. Out of the dull plane of our common life, Beset with sordid, interrupting cares, And petty motives and ignoble strife, We dimly raise our hesitating prayers, And question fearfully if such a thing can be That the great Lord can care for creatures such as we. Up from the radiant heights of just-won bliss, Achieved through pain and toil and struggle long, We raise our thanks, nor fear that God will miss One least inflection of the happy song. Heaven seems so very near, the earth so bright and dear, The Lord so close at hand, that surely he must hear! But the great depth that was to us so dark, And the dull place that was to us so dull, And the glad height where, singing like a lark, We stood, and felt the world all-beautiful, Seen by the angels’ eyes, bent downward from the skies, Were just as near to heaven and heaven’s infinities. So out of sunshine as of deepest shade, Out of the dust of sordid every-days, We may look up, and, glad and unafraid, Call on the Lord for help, and give him praise; No time nor fate nor space can bar us from his face, Or stand between one soul and his exhaustless grace. |
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