I am not moved to love you

O my god

That I might hope in promised

Heaven to dwell

Nor am I moved by fear of pain in hell

To turn from sin and follow

Where you trod

You move me lord broken

Beneath the rod

Or stretched out on the cross as

Nails compel

Your hand to twitch it moves me

That we sell

To mockery and death your precious blood

It is o christ your love

Which moves me so

That my love rests not on a

Promised prize

Nor holy fear on threat of endless woe

It is not milk and honey but the flow

Of blood from blessed

Wounds before my eyes

That waters my buried soul and

Makes it grow

Nor holy fear on threat of endless woe

It is not milk and honey but the flow

Of blood from blessed

Wounds before my eyes

That waters my buried soul and

Makes it grow

It is o christ your love

Which moves me so