O God, Thou art the object of my love,
not for the hope of endless joy above,
Nor for the fear of endless pain below
Which those who love Thee not must undergo.
For me and such as me,
Thou once didst bear the shameful cross,
the nails, the spear.
A thorny crown transpierced Thy sacred brow,
what bloody sweat from every member flowed.
Such then was, is, Thy love for me.
Such is, and shall be still, my love for Thee.