O Lord, Thy gracious hand
In love, but heaviness,
Hath brought me once again
Submissively, (through pain
And grief) to lowliness,
To see how little like I am
To Christ, my Lord, Thy chosen Lamb.

I may not lift mine eyes
To Thee, my God, and say
I'm worthy of one thing
Thy grace to me doth bring.
Thy debtor every day
Yet, still, I plead Thine own sweet word,
Which casts me on Thy bounty, Lord.

O Christ, my heart's resource,
In whom all fulness is-
My life, my light, my joy,
My peace without alloy,
My everlasting bliss:
My longing soul desires to be
For Thee, my God, and only Thee.

How could this beggared world
Have anything to give?
The things my hands would hold
Might cost me pain untold;
My joy must be in Thee.
And so, I give them back to Thee
To keep and sanctify for me.

I know Thou wilt not choose
The heart, to be for Thee,
Overfilled with earthly things.
No heart like this e'er sings
The heavenly melody
Thou'lt ever stoop to hear
From those who thus draw near.

Nor wilt Thou choose, my God,
The hands to work for Thee
Overfilled with earthly fruits;
Whose e'er descending roots
Are drawing constantly,
Their sustenance, (of nothing worth,)
From out a ruined cursed earth.

Thou canst not satisfy,
With Thy sweet whisperings,
Th" unconsecrated ear
That seeks, and loves to hear
The fruits of fleshly things-
Which waste away the precious days,
And rob Thee of Thy rightful praise.

Thou'lt follow, but not walk
In close companionship
With those whose wayward feet
Have chosen paths unmeet,
Where they must surely slip.
What joy untold they, wilful, lose,
Who thus His blessed paths refuse.

Then mold this vessel frail,
With Thine unerring hand.
I dare not undertake-
Lest I might rudely break
Some tender chord or band:
Thou'lt shape it for eternity,
And none may do this work but Thee.

Thus, fashioned Lord by Thee,
I may not choose the way
Thou'lt seek my heart to prune,
Or set my harp in tune
For some sweet melody,
Or wake the new, old song again,
My first love's rapturous refrain.

H. McD.