blb/hymns/hymns_html/htm_w_e_wemaynot.html

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<h2>WE MAY NOT CLIMB THE HEAVENLY STEEPS</h2>
<p align="center"><h3>&#8220;No one has ever gone into heaven except the One Who came from heaven&#8212;the Son of Man.&#8221; John 3:13</h3></p>
<center><b>Hymns Supplied Through the Gracious Generosity<br>of the </b><a href="http://www.hymntime.com/tch/" target = "_blank"><b>Cyber Hymnal Website</b></a><br><br><a href="./hymns/hymns_html/cyberhymnal_info.html" target = "_blank">Information about Cyber Hymnal Website</a></center>
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<td><img src="./hymns/hymns_img/img_w_h_whittier_jg.jpg" alt="John Greenleaf Whittier (1807-1892)" width="100" height="156"></td>
<td><em>Words:</em> <a href="./hymns/hymns_bio/bio_w_h_whittier_jg.html" target="_blank">John Greenleaf Whittier</a>. This hymn, and <a href = "./hymns/hymns_html/htm_i_m_immortal.html">Immortal Love, Forever Full</a>, come from Whittier&#8217;s poem &#8220;The Master,&#8221; in <em>The Panorama, and other Poems</em>, 1856.
<p><em>Music:</em> &#8220;Serenity,&#8221; adapted by <a href="./hymns/hymns_bio/bio_b_u_burnap_uc.html" target="_blank">Uzziah Christopher Burnap</a>, 1856, from &#8220;Waft, Ye Winds,&#8221; by <a href="./hymns/hymns_bio/bio_w_a_wallace_wv.html" target="_blank">William Vincent Wallace</a>, 1836 </p><p><table><tr><td><a href="./hymns/hymns_mid/mid_s_serenity.mid" target = "_blank"><img border=0 src="./hymns/hymns_img/notes.gif"><br><b>Play MIDI</b></a></td><td>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</td><td><a href="./hymns/hymns_html/score_info.html" target = "_blank"><b>Link to obtain<br>musical score info</b></a></td></tr></table></p>
<td><img src="./hymns/hymns_img/img_w_a_wallace_wv.gif" alt="William Vincent Wallace (1812-1865)" width="140.666666666667" height="188.666666666667"></td>
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<p>We may not climb the heavenly steeps<br>
To bring the Lord Christ down;<br>
In vain we search the lowest deeps,<br>
For Him no depths can drown.</p>
<p>But warm, sweet, tender, even yet<br>
A present help is He;<br>
And faith has still its Olivet,<br>
And love its Galilee.</p>
<p>The healing of the seamless dress<br>
Is by our beds of pain;<br>
We touch Him in life&#8217;s throng and press,<br>
And we are whole again.</p>
<p>Through Him the first fond prayers are said<br>
Our lips of childhood frame;<br>
The last low whispers of our dead<br>
Are burdened with His Name.</p>
<p>O Lord and Master of us all,<br>
Whate&#8217;er our name or sign,<br>
We own Thy sway, we hear Thy call,<br>
We test our lives by Thine!</p>
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