I love Thee, to love Thee,—­
    No more I desire;
By faith is nourished
    My love’s strong fire.

I kiss Thy hands
    When I feel their blows;
In the place of caresses
    Thou givest me woes.

But in Thy chastising
    Is joy and peace. 
O Master and Love,
    Let Thy blows not cease.

Thy beauty, Beloved,
    With scorn is rife,
But I know that Thou lovest me
    Better than life.

And because Thou lovest me,
    Lover of mine,
Death can but make me
    Utterly Thine.

I die with longing
    Thy face to see;
Oh! sweet is the anguish
    Of death to me!