Discipline

Throw away your rod,

Throw away your wrath:

                    O my God,

Take the gentle path.

For my heart’s desire

Unto yours is bent:

                    I aspire

To a full consent.

Not a word or look

I affect to own,

                    But by book,

And your book alone.

Though I fail, I weep:

Though I halt in pace,

                    Yet I creep

To the throne of grace.

Then let wrath remove;

Love will do the deed:

                    For with love

Stony hearts will bleed.

Love is swift of foot;

Love's a man of war,

                    And can shoot,

And can hit from far.

Who can 'scape his bow?

That which wrought on thee,

                    Brought you low,

Needs must work on me.

Throw away your rod;

Though man frailties hath,

                    You are God:

Throw away your wrath.