Laid on thine altar, O my Lord Divine,
Accept my will this day, for Jesus' sake;
I have no jewels to adorn thy shrine--
Nor any world-proud sacrifice to make;
But here I bring within my trembling hand,
This will of mine--a thing that seemeth small,
And Thou alone, O God, canst understand
How, when I yield Thee this, I yield mine all.
Hidden therein, thy searching gaze can see
Struggles of passion--visions of delight--
All that I love, and am, and fain would be,
Deep loves, fond hopes, and longings infinite.
It hath been wet with tears and dimmed with sighs,
Clinched in my grasp, till beauty hath it none--
Now, from thy footstool where it vanquished lies,
The prayer ascendeth, "May thy will be done."
Take it, O Father, ere my courage fail,
And merge it so in thine own Will, that e'en
If, in some desperate hour, my cries prevail,
And thou give back my will, it may have been
So changed, so purified, so fair have grown,
So one with thee, so filled with peace divine,
I may not see nor know it as my own,
But, gaining back my will, may find it thine.
Manlike is it to fall into sin,
Fiendlike is it to dwell therein,
Christlike is it for sin to grieve,
Godlike is it all sin to leave.
--Friedrich von Logau.