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!