Love is the Lord whom I obey, Whose will transported I perform; The centre of my rest, my stay, Love's all in all to me, myself a worm. | For uncreated charms I burn, Oppressed by slavish fear no more, For One in whom I may discern, E'en when he frowns, a sweetness I adore. | He little loves him who complains, And finds him rigorous and severe; His heart is sordid, and he feigns, Though loud in boasting of a soul sincere. | Love causes grief, but 'tis to move And stimulate the slumbering mind; And he has never tasted love Who shuns a plan so graciously designed. | Sweet is the cross, above all sweets, To souls enamoured with thy smiles; The keenest woe life ever meets, Love strips of all its terrors, and beguiles. | 'Tis just that God should not be dear Where self engrosses all the thought, And groans and murmurs make it clear, Whatever else is loved, the Lord is not. | The love of thee flows just as much As that of ebbing self subsides; Our hearts, their scantiness is such, Bear not the conflict of two rival tides. | Both cannot govern in one soul; Then let self–love be dispossessed; The love of God deserves the whole, And will not dwell with so despised a guest. | |