O Jesu Christ, if aught there be
That, more than all beside,
In ever painful memory
Must in my heart abide,
It is that deep ingratitude
Which I to Thee have shown,
Who didst for me in tears and blood
Upon the cross atone.
Alas, how with my actions all
Has this defect entwined;
How has it poisoned with its gall
My spirit, heart and mind!
Alas, through this, how many a gem
I’ve rudely cast away,
That might have formed my diadem
In 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 divine
A contrite heart despise.