By hope and fear, by grief and joy opprest,
With deadly hate, more deadly love infected;
Without, within, in body, soul, distrest;
Little by all, least by my self respected,
But most, most there, where most I lov'd, neglected;
Hated, and hating life, to death I call;
Who scorns to take what is refus'd by all.
Whither, ah, whither then wilt thou betake thee,
Despised wretch, of friends, of all forlorn,
Since hope, and love, and life, and death forsake thee?
Poore soul, thy own tormenter, others scorn!
Whither, poore soul, ah, whither wilt thou turn?
What inne, what host (scorn'd wretch) wilt thou now chuse
The common host, and inne, death, grave, refuse thee.
To thee, great Love, to thee I prostrate fall,
That right'st in love the heart in false love swerved:
On thee, true Love, on thee I weeping call;
I, who am scorn'd, where with all truth I served,
On thee, so wrong'd, where thou hast so deserved:
Disdain'd, where most I lov'd, to thee I plain me,
Who truly lovest those, who (fools) disdain thee.
Thou never-erring Way, in thee direct me;
Thou Death of death, oh, in thy death engrave me:
Thou hated Love, with thy firm love respect me;
Thou freest Servant, from this yoke unslave me:
Glorious Salvation, for thy glory save me.
So neither love, nor hate, scorn, death, shall move me;
But with thy love, great Love, I still shall love thee.