O Jesu Christ, if aught there beThat, more than all beside,In ever painful memoryMust in my heart abide,
It is that deep ingratitudeWhich I to Thee have shown,Who didst for me in tears and bloodUpon the cross atone.
Alas, how with my actions allHas this defect entwined;How has it poisoned with its gallMy spirit, heart and mind!
Alas, through this, how many a gemI’ve rudely cast away,That might have formed my diademIn everlasting day!
Yet though the time be past and gone,Though little more remains:Though naught is all that can be done,E’en with my utmost pains;
Still will I strive, O Savior mine,To do what in me lies;For never did Thy glance divineA contrite heart despise.