My God! my God! and can it be
That I should sin so light­ly now,
And think no more of ev­il thoughts
Than of the wind that waves the bough?

I sin, and Heav’n and earth go round,
As if no dread­ful deed were done;
As if Thy blood had ne­ver flowed
To hin­der sin, or to atone.

I walk the earth with light­some step,
Smile at the sun­shine, breathe the air,
Do my own will, not ev­er heed
Gethsemane and Thy long pray­er.

Shall it be al­ways thus, O Lord?
Wilt Thou not work this hour in me
The grace of Thy Pass­ion mer­it­ed,
Hatred of self, and love of Thee!

O by the pains of Thy pure love,
Grant me the gift of ho­ly fear;
And by Thy woes and bloody sweat
Wash Thou my guil­ty con­science clear!

Ever when tempt­ed, make me see,
Beneath the ol­ives’ moon pierced shade,
My God, alone, out­stretched, and bruised,
And bleed­ing, on the earth He made;

And make me feel it was my sin,
As though no oth­er sins there were,
That was to Him who bears the world
A load that He could scarce­ly bear.