O Love! O Life! Our faith and sight
Thy pres­ence mak­eth one,
As through trans­fi­gured clouds of white
We trace the noon­day sun.

So, to our mor­tal eyes sub­dued,
Flesh-veiled, but not con­cealed,
We know in Thee the fa­ther­hood
And heart of God re­vealed.

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!

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

Thy li­ta­nies, sweet of­fic­es
Of love and gra­ti­tude;
Thy sac­ra­ment­al li­tur­gies,
The joy of do­ing good.