THY restless feet now cannot go
For us and our eternal good,
As they were ever wont. What though
They swim, alas! in their own flood?
Thy hands to give Thou canst not lift,
Yet will Thy hand still giving be;
It gives, but O, itself's the gift!
It gives tho' bound, tho' bound 'tis free!
More verses by Richard Crashaw
- But Men Loved Darkness Rather Than Light
- Divine Epigrams: To Our Lord, Upon The Water Made Wine
- An Epitaph Upon Husband And Wife
- To Our Lord, Upon The Water Made Wine
- Upon Ford's Two Tragedies