Classic Poem

Permit not, Lord, the hope of heaven to urge
To turn to thee the longing of thy child;
Nor to forsake offending, terror-filled,
The pains of hell become for me a scourge.

Suffer me, Saviour, to approach the verge
Of Life, see thee alive, and nailed, reviled,
Thy body torn and bloody and defiled;
In thy death torment grant my love to merge.

Suffer me, Lord, to love thee in such wise
That though I had not heaven I love thee still,
That though I had not hell I fear thy will.

Because I love thee hold me out no prize.
Did I as greatly as I hope despair,
As I desire thee I should find thee fair.