A Present Help

1We may not climb the heav'nly steeps,
To bring the Saviour down;
In vain we search the lowest deeps,
For him no depths can drown.

2But warm, sweet, tender, even yet A present help is he;
And faith has yet its Olivet,
And love, its Galilee.

3The healing of the seamless dress Is by our beds of pain;
We touch him in life's throng and press,
And we are whole again.

4Thro' him the first fond pray'rs are said,
Our lips of childhood frame;
The last low whispers of our dead Are burdened with his name.

5O 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!