Oh Thou of Little Faith

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Oh Thou of Little Faith

Sad-hearted, be at peace: the snowdrop lies

Buried in sepulchre of ghastly snow;

But spring is floating up the southern skies,

And darkling the pale snowdrop waits below.

Let me persuade: in dull December’s day

We scarce believe there is a month of June;

But up the stairs of April and of May

The hot sun climbeth to the summer’s noon.

Yet hear me: I love God, and half I rest.

O better! God loves thee, so all rest thou.

He is our summer, our dim-visioned Best;⁠—

And in his heart thy prayer is resting now.