I have not much to give Thee, Lord,
But what I have is Thine;
Thou gavest for me Thy life outpoured,
Naught that I have is mine.

I bring my pound of ointment rare,
Whate’er the cost to me;
For ’twas my sins that nailed Thee there,
Upon the accursed tree.

It cost far more than I can give,
To save my soul from sin;
Thou gavest Thy life that I might live,
Holy and pure within.

My all I lay down at Thy feet,
Gladly Thy cross to bear;
‘Til that glad day when Thee I’ll meet,
A crown of glory wear.

FRAGMENT
There from His head, His hands, His feet,
Sorrow and love flowed mingled down;
Did e’er such love and sorrow meet,
Or thorns compose so rich a crown?

Were the whole realm of nature ours,
That were an offering far too small;
Love that transcends our highest powers,
Demands our soul, our life, our all.