My deepest love, a stingy gift,
My deepest praise, a flattery,
How greater far the look or thought
Of Christ, my God, my King, toward me.
My deepest pain, a surface wound,
My deepest regret, the merest fancy,
Compared to the pain which He endured,
E'en in just grieving the pain I cause me.
Dependent I, upon His all,
No deepest guilt enough to turn me,
Repentant why? Not for what I ever can thank,
But by the deep love I never need earn me.
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