Edward Rowland Sill (1841–1887)

O GOD, our Father, if we had but truth!

Lost truth—which thou perchance

Didst let man lose, lest all his wayward youth

He waste in song and dance;

That he might gain, in searching, mightier powers,

For manlier use in those foreshadowed hours.

If blindly groping, he shall oft mistake,

And follow twinkling motes

Thinking them stars, and the one voice forsake

Of Wisdom for the notes

Which mocking Beauty utters here and there,

Thou surely wilt forgive him, and forbear!

Oh love us, for we love thee, Maker—God!

And would creep near thy hand,

And call thee “Father, Father,” from the sod

Where by our graves we stand,

And pray to touch, fearless of scorn or blame,

The garment’s hem, which Truth and Good we name.