| |
|
Throw away
thy rod,
Throw away thy wrath:
O my God,
Take
the gentle path.
For my heart's desire
Unto thine
is bent:
I aspire
To a full consent.
Not a word
or look
I affect to own,
But by book,
And thy
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 thee low,
Needs
must work on me.
Throw away they rod;
Though man
frailties hath,
Thou art God:
Throw away thy
wrath.
|
|
|
