THROW away thy rod, 
Throw away thy wrath :
O my God,
Take the gentle path. 

For my hearts desire 
Unto thine is bent :
I aspire
To a full consent. 

Nor a word or look
I affect to own,
But by book,
And thy book alone.

Though I fail, I weep :
Though I halt in pace,
Yet I creep
To the throne of grace.

Then let wrath remove ;
Love will do the deed :
For with love
Stonie hearts will bleed.

Love is swift of foot ;
Love’s a man of warre,
And can shoot,
And can hit from farre.

Who can scape his bow ?
That which wrought on thee,
Brought thee low,
Needs must work on me.

Throw away thy rod ;
Though man frailties hath,
Thou art God :
Throw away thy wrath.