THAT mystic word of thine, O sovereign Lord,

Is all too pure, too high, too deep for me;

Weary of striving, and with longing faint,

I breathe it back again in prayer to thee.

Abide in me, I pray, and I in thee;

From this good hour, O, leave me nevermore;

Then shall the discord cease, the wound be healed,

The lifelong bleeding of the soul be o'er.

Abide in me; o'ershadow by thy love

Each half-formed purpose and dark thought of sin;

Quench, e'er it rise, each selfish, low desire,

And keep my soul as thine, calm and divine.

As some rare perfume in a vase of clay

Pervades it with a fragrance not its own,

So, when thou dwellest in a mortal soul,

All heaven's own sweetness seems around it thrown.

Abide in me: there have been moments blest

When I have heard thy voice and felt thy power;

Then evil lost its grasp, and passion, hushed,

Owned the divine enchantment of the hour.

These were but seasons, beautiful and rare;

Abide in me, and they shall ever be.

Fulfil at once thy precept and my prayer,--

Come, and abide in me, and I in thee.