And art Thou grieved, O sacred Dove,

When I despise or cross Thy love?

Grieved for a worm; when every tread

Crushes, and leaves the reptile dead!

Then mirth be ever banish’d hence,

Since Thou art pain’d by my offence:

I sin not to my grief alone,

The Comforter within doth groan.

Then weep, my eyes, for God doth grieve!

Weep, foolish heart, and weeping live:

Tears for the living mourner plead,

But ne’er avail the hopeless dead.

Lord, I adjudge myself to grief,

To endless tears without relief:

Yet O! to exact Thy due forbear,

And spare a feeble creature, spare!

Still if I wail not, (still to wail

Nature denies, and flesh would fail,)

Lord, pardon; for Thy Son makes good

My want of tears, with store of blood.