It is not your promised heaven
That moves me to love you, O Lord
Nor am I moved to serve you by fear of hell

What moves me, O Lord, is you upon the cross
Battered, broken, mocked and marred
With wounds agape and blood outpoured
With thorns and nails, and arms outstretched for me
With love for me

It is your love, O Lord, that moves me to love you
Not fear of loss, or hope for gain

Should hell be an illusion, and heaven fade away
For your love, I would do your will
And love you, as I love you still