O LOVE! if I have ever in thee wrought
The slightest grief, or for the smallest space
Troubled the happy calmness of thy face,
Then may my soul be blasted by the thought:
May it be made my curse, till I am brought,
Through nights of anguish and through bitter days,
To stand at length before God's judgment place,
Where all man's strength comes utterly to nought.

Then, though on earth I had grown good as Christ,
Done all fair, righteous things, and sacrificed
Myself for man, God shall no mercy show,
But damn me utterly; and should Christ turn
To plead, His intercession I will spurn;
And say, "Nay, God, 't is just; Lord, even so!"