Classic Poem

If there be any special thing,
In all my former years,
That should with grief my bosom wring,
And choke my heart with tears, —

It is that deep ingratitude,
Which I to Him have shown,
Who did for me in tears and blood
Upon the Cross atone.

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

Alas, through this, how many a gem
Have I not cast away,
That might have form'd 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 Saviour mine,
To do what in me lies;
For never did Thy glance divine
A contrite heart despise.