O Burning Bush of Light so pure, pray, I pray, that I not endure from afar the fiery Love Thou bearest, but in Thy sorrowful Heart may rest. When suffer I this life's great trials, and battle against the devil's guiles, may I the world's pleasures forsake, an act of reparation to make to Thy sword-pierced Heart, O gentle Maid, Whom the Lord to love hath bade. Know, dear Heart, both I and Thou, can I mine own one gift endow: Wretchedness, misery, whose love is self-care— this to lay at Thy feet I dare. O Virgin of virgins, O full of Love, I cannot bear Thy glance of a dove. So grant me grace—cherish, pity me; that I may be-long, wholly, to Thee.