Heaven that you have promised me, my God,
Does not move me to love you.
Nor does hell so dreadful move me
To leave all that offends you.
You move me, Lord. It moves me to see you
Mocked, nailed to that cross.
It moves me to see your body so wounded.
Your dishonour moves me, and your death.
You move me to your love in such a way
That —even if there were no heaven— I would love you;
And —even if there were no hell— I would fear you.
You do not have to give to gain my love;
For —even if what I hope for becomes hopeless—
In the same way I love you, I would love you still.
Anonymous, attributed to Santa Teresa
Translation by Stacy Shoop