Oh, not with outstretched hand and pitying glance,
And lips that meet the tear-stained cheek with sighs,
Not in soft words that fall but to enhance
The floods of agony, our healing lies;
But with the tender longing to restore
Our wand'ring brother to his rightful home,
We find the wings to rise from earth and soar
Into Love's presence, where no ill can come.
Ah, then, we know ! No better love than this,
The love of him who saw and touched and healed;
For though our Master spurned not Mary's kiss,
He, through his works, the truer love revealed.
