We may not climb the heavenly steeps To bring the Lord Christ down; In vain we search the lowest deeps, For Him no depths can drown. But warm, sweet, tender, even yet A present help is He; And faith has still its Olivet, And love its Galilee. The healing of the seamless dress Is by our beds of pain; We touch Him in life's throng and press, And we are whole again. Through Him the first fond prayers are said Our lips of childhood frame; The last low whispers of our dead Are burdened with His Name. O Lord and Master of us all, Whate'er our name or sign, We own Thy sway, we hear Thy call, We test our lives by Thine!
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