I venerate the man whose heart is warm, Whose hands are pure, whose doctrine and whose life, Coincident, exhibit lucid proof That he is honest in the sacred cause.
England with all thy faults, I love thee still– My country! and, while yet a nook is left Where English minds and manners may be found, Shall be constrained to love thee.
Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, But trust Him for His grace; Behind a frowning providence He hides a smiling face. His purposes will ripen fast, Unfolding every hour;
