I would sooner stand forsaking the sun,
than for a moment lose your purest light.
To be near to you, the things I have done.
For your presence nothing I would not fight.
I have held the cross high in foreign lands,
smiting the evil, young and old alike.
Delivering man from the devil's hands,
rending nonbelievers with holy strike.
Each night before I lay my head to sleep,
I kneel and look to you for guiding voice.
Though I hear no words, your fight I will keep,
the pope has made heaven an easy choice.
But suddenly heat replaces all grace.
I do not understand why hell I face.