Love! if thy destined sacrifice am I,

Come, slay thy victim, and prepare thy fires;

Plunged in thy depths of mercy, let me die

The death which every soul that lives desires!


I watch my hours, and see them fleet away;

The time is long that I have languish’d here;

Yet all my thoughts thy purposes obey,

With no reluctance, cheerful and sincere.


To me ’tis equal, whether love ordain

My life or death, appoint me pain or ease;

My soul perceives no real ill in pain;

In ease or health no real good she sees.


One good she covets, and that good alone,

To choose thy will, from selfish bias free;

And to prefer a cottage to a throne,

And grief to comfort, if it pleases thee.


That we should bear the cross is thy command,

Die to the world and live to self no more;

Suffer, unmoved, beneath the rudest hand,

As pleased when shipwreck’d as when safe on shore.





















ACQUIESCENCE OF PURE LOVE, THE [Madame Jeanne Guyon] ~ POEM         1


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