O Je­su Christ, if aught there be
That, more than all be­side,
In ev­er pain­ful me­mo­ry
Must in my heart abide,

It is that deep in­gra­ti­tude
Which I to Thee have shown,
Who didst for me in tears and blood
Upon the cross atone.

Alas, how with my act­ions all
Has this de­fect en­twined;
How has it poi­soned with its gall
My spir­it, heart and mind!

Alas, through this, how ma­ny a gem
I’ve rude­ly cast away,
That might have formed my di­adem
In ev­er­last­ing day!

Yet though the time be past and gone,
Though lit­tle more re­mains:
Though naught is all that can be done,
E’en with my ut­most pains;

Still will I strive, O Sav­ior mine,
To do what in me lies;
For ne­ver did Thy glance di­vine
A con­trite heart des­pise.