Have tried Thy Spirit's winning arts,
  And yet we are not won?

The Son of God in radiance beamed
  Too bright for us to scan,
But we may face the rays that streamed
  From the mild Son of Man.

There, parted into rainbow hues,
  In sweet harmonious strife
We see celestial love diffuse
  Its light o'er Jesus' life.

God, by His bow, vouchsafes to write
  This truth in Heaven above:
As every lovely hue is Light,
  So every grace is Love.

"Yes—deep within and deeper yet
  The rankling shaft of conscience hide,
Quick let the swelling eye forget
  The tears that in the heart abide.
Calm be the voice, the aspect bold,
  No shuddering pass o'er lip or brow,
For why should Innocence be told
  The pangs that guilty spirits bow?

"The loving eye that watches thine
  Close as the air that wraps thee round -
Why in thy sorrow should it pine,
  Since never of thy sin it found?
And wherefore should the heathen see
  What chains of darkness thee enslave,
And mocking say, 'Lo, this is he
  Who owned a God that could not save'?"

Thus oft the mourner's wayward heart
  Tempts him to hide his grief and die,
Too feeble for Confession's smart,
  Too proud to bear a pitying eye;