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Poem	That God should love me is more wonderful Than that I so imperfectly love him. My reason is mortality, and dim Senses; his--oh, insupportable-- Is that he sees me. Even when I pull Dark thoughts about my head, each vein and limb Delights him, though remembrance in him, grim With my worst crimes, should prove me horrible. And he has terrors that he can release. But when he looks he loves me; which is why I wonder; and my wonder must increase Till more of it shall slay me. Yet I live, I live; and he has never ceased to give This glance at me that sweetens the whole sky.
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