O Jesus, Lord, my Life, my All,
Hast Thou now set Thy love on me?
Then chain this heart, Thy captive thrall,
To beat for evermore for Thee!

Alas, I know it beats not true–
To Thee a grief, a shame to me:
Do Thou each wayward pulse subdue,
And wholly sanctify to Thee.

I trust Thee–break my stubborn will;
I would not count the cost to me,
If in the wine-press love distill
From this poor bruised heart to Thee!

Yea, chasten through my pilgrim years,
In faithful, tender grace to me,
Till self shall melt to love and tears,
And lavish all its wealth on Thee!