A halo rests up­on Thy brow,
O Sav­ior of the sons of men;
For Thou art crowned a vic­tor now—
But Thou wilt come to us again.

Thou hast a thought for those who tread
The steeps of life, and oft­en fail;
The weak in faith lift up the head,
And in Thy strength, O Christ, pre­vail.

Thou art not far re­moved from those,
That yearn for Thee, and seek Thy grace;
Who in Thy ten­der love re­pose,
May hear Thy voice, and see Thy face—

And know the love that giv­eth rest,
And share its strength, and feel its glow;
As he who leaned up­on Thy breast,
When Thou wert with us, long ago.

But hearts are sad, and lives are lone,
They long for Thee, who love Thee most;
E’en when Thy pro­mised gift they own—
The com­fort of the Holy Ghost.

Thou art our faith, our hope, our love,
O Lov­er of the souls of men;
Bow down Thy heav’ns, and from above,
Come, bless­èd Lord, to us again.