By:  Hannah Hurnard
Can love be terrible, my Lord?
Can gentleness be stern?
Ah yes!—intense is love’s desire
To purify his loved—‘tis fire,
A holy fire to burn.
For he must fully perfect thee
Till in thy likeness all may see
Thy beauty of thy Lord.
Can holy love be jealous, Lord?
Yes, jealous as the grave;
Till every hurtful idol be
Up torn and wrested out of thee
Love will be stern to save;
Will spare thee not a single pain
And perfect as thy Lord.
Can love seem cruel, O my Lord?
Yes, like a sword the cure;
He will not spare thee, sin-sick soul,
Till he hath made thy sickness whole,
Until thine heart is pure.
For oh! He loves thee for to well
To leave thee in thy self-made hell,
A Savior is thy Lord.


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