O Name, All Other Names Above

O name

all oth­er names ab­ove

What art Thou not to me?

Now I have learned to trust Thy love

And cast my care on Thee.

What is our be­ing but a cry

A rest­less long­ing still

Which Thou alone canst sa­tis­fy

Alone Thy full­ness fill?

Thrice bless­èd be the ho­ly souls

That lead the way to Thee

That burn up­on the mar­tyr rolls

And lists of pro­phe­cy.

And sweet it is to tread the ground

O’er which their faith hath trod;

But sweet­er far

when Thou art found

The soul’s own sense of God.

The thought of Thee all sor­row calms

Our anx­ious bur­dens fall;

His cross­es turn to tri­umph palms

Who finds in God his all.