| Alfred H. Miles, ed. The Sacred Poets of the Nineteenth Century. 1907. | | | Poems. II. This did not once so trouble me | | By Richard Chenevix Trench (18071886) |
| | | THIS did not once so trouble me, | |
| That better I could not love Thee; | |
| But now I feel and know | |
| That only when we love, we find | |
| How far our hearts remain behind | 5 |
| The love they should bestow. | |
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| While we had little care to call | |
| On Thee, and scarcely prayed at all, | |
| We seemed enough to pray: | |
| But now we only think with shame, | 10 |
| How seldom to Thy glorious Name | |
| Our lips their offerings pay. | |
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| And when we gave yet slighter heed | |
| Unto our brothers suffering need, | |
| Our hearts reproached us then | 15 |
| Not half so much as now, that we | |
| With such a careless eye can see | |
| The woes and wants of men. | |
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| In doing is this knowledge won, | |
| To see what yet remains undone; | 20 |
| With this our pride repress, | |
| And give us grace, a growing store, | |
| That day by day we may do more, | |
| And may esteem it less. | | | | |
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