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              TO CHRIST

I am not moved to love Thee, O my Lord,
    By any longing for Thy Promised Land;
    Nor by the fear of hell am I unmanned
To cease from my transgressing deed or word.

Tis Thou Thyself dost move me,—Thy blood poured
    Upon the cross from nailed foot and hand;
    And all the wounds that did Thy body brand;
And all Thy shame and bitter death's award.

Yea, to Thy heart am I so deeply stirred
    That I would love Thee were no heaven on high,—
That I would fear, were hell a tale absurd!

Such my desire, all questioning grows vain;
    Though hope deny me hope I still should sigh,
And as ray love is now, it should remain.

Anonymous, attributed to Santa Teresa
Translation by Thomas Walsh

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Attributed to Santa Teresa
audio Voz: Ditirambo -
ruso Перевод А. Гелескула
inglés Translation by Alix Ingber
inglés Translation by Art Eschenlauer
inglés Translation by Stacy Shoop
inglés Translation by Hugh Seay.
inglés Translation by Michael Haldane.
español Original version