Poem

I am not moved to love you, Lord,
By promises of paradise;
Nor does the hell that terrifies
Move me to want to sin no more.

You are the one that moves me, Lord,
When to your cross I turn my eyes
To see your wounds, hear insults, lies;
I’m grieved to know you’re dying, Lord.

Your love moves me in such a way
That without heav’n I’d love you still,
And without hell, I’d fear to stray.

I need no goads or giveaway;
For even if my hopes were nil,
I’d love you as I do today.