My God to thee I dedicate This simple work of mine, And also with it heart and soul; To be forever thine. No other motive will I have, Than by it thee to praise And stir up my poor frozen soul By love itself to raise. O I desire neither tongue, nor pen1No tongue to speak or pen to write. But to extol2Praise enthusiastically.God’s praise, In which excess I’ll melt away Ten thousand, thousand ways. And as one that is sick with love3“I charge you, O daughters of Jerusalem, if ye find my beloved, that ye tell him, that I am sick of love” (Canticles 5:8, Douay-Rheims Bible). Engraves on every Tree The Name and Praise of him she loves, So shall it be with me.