Weary and long the winding way;
Yet as I fare, to comfort me,
Still o'er and o'er I tell the beads
Of love's perfected rosary.
The fire that once hath pierced the heart,
If from above, must upward flame,
Nor falter till it find at last
The burning fountain whence it came.
O fire of love within my breast—
O pain that pleads for no surcease—
Fill me with fervor!—more and more,
Give me thy passion and thy peace!
O love, that mounts to paths of day
Untraversed by the soaring lark,
O love, through all the silent night
A lamp to light the boundless dark,
O love, whose dearest pangs I bear,
This heart—this wounded heart—transform!
That all who seek its shelter may
There find a refuge safe and warm.
Were there no heaven of high reward,
Man's service here to crown and bless,
Were there no hell,—I, for love's sake,
Would toil with ardent willingness.
And if—O Thou that pitiest
The fallen, lone, and tempest-tost!—
If, Love Divine, Thou wilt but save
Whom I do love, none shall be lost!