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The Fear of Thee

Frederick W. Faber
(1814-1863)

My fear of Thee, O Lord, exults
Like life within my veins,
A fear which rightly claims to be
One of love’s sacred pains.

Thy goodness to Thy saints of old
An awful thing appeared;
For were Thy majesty less good
Much less would it be feared.

There is no joy the soul can meet
Upon life’s various road
Like the sweet fear that sits and shrinks
Under the eye of God.

A special joy is in all love
For objects we revere;
Thus joy in God will always be
Proportioned to our fear.

Oh Thou art greatly to be feared,
Thou art so prompt to bless!
The dread to miss such love as Thine
Makes fear but love’s excess.

The fullness of Thy mercy seems
To fill both land and sea!
If we can break through bounds so vast,
How exiled shall we be!

 

Lyre and Wreath, used under license from www.123rf.com (santi0103/123RF Stock Photo)

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Image credit: Copyright: santi0103/123RF Stock Photo
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