How many seasons must I coax Thy reluctance
With words all shaped from ardour’s reason,
How many nights must I hold my vigilance
And my reprieve of sleep tiredly abandon?

How many quills must I in expression wear out
Diagramming in thought my compelling logic,
How many tomes must I fill and exhaust,
And crowd my margins with love’s semantic?

How many bodies must I as a soul don 
And endure this harsh calamity of birth,
How many ages must I venture herein
This globe of alarm and marred mirth?

All I have endured I endured for Thee,
This much Thou knowest O Sire of me.