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.

Our thoughts lie open to thy sight;
And, naked to thy glance,
Our secret sins are in the light
Of thy pure countenance.

Yet, weak and blinded though we be,
Thou dost our service own;
We bring our varying gifts to thee
And thou rejectest none.

To thee our full humanity,
Its joys and pains, belong;
The wrong of each to each on thee
Inflicts a deeper wrong.

Who hates, hates thee; who loves, becomes
Therein to thee allied;
All sweet accords of hearts and homes
In thee are multiplied.

Apart from thee all gain is loss,
All labour vainly done;
The solemn shadow of thy cross
Is better than the sun.

Our friend, our brother, and our Lord,
What may thy service be?
Nor name, nor form, nor ritual word,
But simply following thee.

We faintly hear, we dimly see,
In differing phrase we pray;
But, dim or clear, we own in thee
The Light, the Truth, the Way.


John Greenleaf Whittier (1807-92)