O Thou, Who didst with love untold Thy doubting servant chide, Bidding the eye of sense behold Thy wounded hands and side. Grant us, like him, with heartfelt awe To own Thee God and Lord, And from this hour of darkness draw Faith in the incarnate Word. And while that wondrous record now Of unbelief we hear, O let us only lowlier bow In self-distrusting fear. And grant that we may never dare Thy loving heart to grieve, But, at the last, their blessing share Who see not, yet believe.
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