You never say, Enough
What I have given, I have given.
You never tire of pouring yourself
out for the life of the world.
Day after ten thousand day
we grow weary, we run dry
and you are still our Abundance,
still your Infinity serves us
with a towel tied gladly
about your waist.
This is the meaning of your glory:
Love which begets love, Power
which stoops in perfect humility,
delighting in the raising.
It presses in daily upon us
and all my heart cries out for you
and (I confess) mixed
with adoration pities you, which
only shows my poverty.
Oh humble love, wider
than the heavens!
Oh, the bliss of someday loving
half as well as we are loved!