I tried to be a paragon of virtue,
all good as I felt You wished me to be,
without the slightest evil that would hurt You,
of solid gold without impurity.
I strove to be for You this paragon,
and when I failed to be it utterly,
I feared that hope of reaching You was gone,
and hell was all that was in store for me.
But fear that failure meant that I’d be burned
presumed my fate was up to me, not You,
presumed salvation is a prize that’s earned
by who I make myself by what I do.
Though I’m a man of virtue and of vice,
O, Love, refine me for Your paradise.
Mario A. Pita