How will I excuse myself before you

How will I excuse myself before you
when my disordered reckoning I make?
From birth you disposed me to be upright,
but the straight rule I’ve bent into a scythe;
I would set it true again, but your aid
I need. Oh, help me, Lord, for I languish.
Let me learn in what way I’m predestined,
your divine present, but my future fate.

Lord, I do not ask for bodily health,
nor of nature or of fortune some good,
but only that I may love you alone;
from such love derives the highest good.
And so must it be that heavenly joy
I cannot feel since such I was created;
yet with understanding a fool will see
the highest good brings joy above all else.