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[274] And not for signs in heaven above
     Or earth below they look,
Who know with John His smile of love,
     With Peter His rebuke.

In joy of inward peace, or sense
     Of sorrow over sin,
He is His own best evidence,
     His witness is within.

No fable old, nor mythic lore,
     Nor dream of bards and seers,
No dead fact stranded on the shore
     Of the oblivious years;—

But warm, sweet, tender, even yet
     A present help is He;
And faith has still its Olivet,
     And love its Galilee.

The healing of His seamless dress
     Is by our beds of pain;
We touch Him in life's throng and press,
     And we are whole again.

Through Him the first fond prayers are said
     Our lips of childhood frame,
The last low whispers of our dead
     Are burdened with His name.

Our Lord and Master of us all!
     Whate'er our name or sign,
We own Thy sway, we hear Thy call,
     We test our lives by Thine.

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