O Thou, who didst with love un­told
Thy doubt­ing ser­vant chide,
Bidding the eye of sense be­hold
Thy wounde­d hands and side.

Grant us, like him, with heart­felt awe
To own Thee God and Lord,
And from this hour of dark­ness draw
Faith in the in­car­nate Word.

And while that won­drous re­cord now
Of un­belief we hear,
O let us on­ly low­li­er bow
In self-dis­trust­ing fear.

And grant that we may ne­ver dare
Thy lov­ing heart to grieve,
But, at the last, their bless­ing share
Who see not, yet be­lieve.