I Bore With Thee Long Weary Days And Nights, Through Many Pangs Of Heart, Through Many Tears; I Bore With Thee, Thy Hardness, Coldness, Slights, For Three And Thirty Years. Who Else Had Dared For Thee What I Have Dared? I Plunged The Depth Most Deep From Bliss Above; I Not My Flesh, I Not My Spirit Spared: Give Thou Me Love For Love. For Thee I Thirsted In The Daily Drouth, For Thee I Trembled In The Nightly Frost: Much Sweeter Thou Than Honey To My Mouth: Why Wilt Thou Still Be Lost? I Bore Thee On My Shoulders And Rejoiced: Men Only Marked Upon My Shoulders Borne The Branding Cross; And Shouted Hungry-Voiced, Or Wagged Their Heads In Scorn. Thee Did Nails Grave Upon My Hands, Thy Name Did Thorns For Frontlets Stamp Between Mine Eyes: I, Holy One, Put On Thy Guilt And Shame; I, God, Priest, Sacrifice. A Thief Upon My Right Hand And My Left; Six Hours Alone, Athirst, In Misery: At Length In Death One Smote My Heart And Cleft A Hiding-Place For Thee. Nailed To The Racking Cross, Than Bed Of Down More Dear, Whereon To Stretch Myself And Sleep: So Did I Win A Kingdom, - Share My Crown; A Harvest, - Come And Reap.