I will declare thy righteouness and thy works: For they shall not profit thee. Isa. 57-12.
What shall I do, what shall I give the LORD?
My beads, my prayers, my gifts, my penance dire;
My gold, my life, what more can I afford?
To works of righteousness my thoughts aspire.
The saints I weary with repeated prayers;
The virgin goddess sure must know me well,
On bended knee I supplicate with tears,
Oh queen of heaven, keep my soul from hell.
The god of wrath I face with trembling dread,
Who sees and frowns at each my slightest sin;
Although I eat him, turned by man from bread,
He dwells not in me, I must eat again.
Oh tell me, is it true my righteousness,
My works, my penance, all are filthy rags;
With raiment hideous 'tis my soul I dress,
Which deeper, deeper my life downward drags?
The unctuous priest, who absolution gives
Has he the power to save my soul from hell?
Can masses pave the way that I may live;
Or GOD'S salvation may we buy or sell?
What peace have I, who never can be sure
That nothing more remains for me to do?
How can I, Oh how can I long endure
The thoughts of death, of death and anguish too.
My creed denies that GOD, himself, has paid;
Has made me free, has made me white as snow;
Nor can I now believe that he has said:
It finished is, there's naught that man can do.
O somber priest, O saints enshrined in stone,
O crucifix or cross inlaid with gold,
Heed ye my sigh as kneeling here I moan,
Where is my God? how may I find his fold?
My works are naught, I know my prayers are sin,
I am not his unless he dwells in me (1)
And if within me; Yes, he says within;
Thou art not far, and I am near to thee.
Then knowing this, contented I rely
On God alone, who gave himself for all
In confidence and peace I live or die;
God dwells in me, and I, on God may call.
By his own grace I live, I cannot fall.
(1) Rom. viii-9; Eph. iv-6.