Do they not greatly err, who hold
That He who made the human soul
Will not its destinies control
For final good, but, wrathful, fold
It in the shrouds of hopeless woe,
Of deathless gloom, of quenchless fire,
The creatures of His vengeful ire,
Whence it can never ransom know?
The Lord is Love! and though His rod
Fall on us with chastising care,
E'en while its bitter pangs we bear,
We know and feel 't is for our good
He sends His chast'nings; that His love
Corrects us when we go astray,
And points us to the better way,
The path to happy realms above.
So in the world to come, His love
Shall freely unto all abound;
E'en prisoners in the depths profound
Shall see His kind face beam above
Their drear abode, and hear His voice,
Unheeded once, in mercy call
'Turn ye to Me and live!' - and all
Shall hear the summons and rejoice.
Lost men, repentant, shall return!
Believing, loving, purified:
Death shall be conquered in his pride,
And Hell's fierce fires shall cease to burn.
Then shall our God be all in all!
His love bear universal sway,
His love preserve all souls for aye,
Nor shall the weakest fear a fall!