Not Worthy, Lord, to Gather Up the Crumbs

Not wor­thy

Lord

to ga­ther up the crumbs

With trem­bling hand that from Thy ta­ble fall

A wea­ry

hea­vy la­den sin­ner comes

To plead Thy pro­mise and ob­ey Thy call.

I am not wor­thy to be thought Thy child

Nor sit the last and low­est at Thy board;

Too long a wan­der­er and too oft be­guiled;

I on­ly ask one re­con­cil­ing word.

One word from Thee

my Lord

one smile

one look

And I could face the cold

rough world again;

And with that trea­sure in my heart could brook

The wrath of de­vils and the scorn of men.

And is not mer­cy Thy pre­ro­ga­tive—

Free mer­cy

bound­less

fa­thom­less

di­vine?

Me

Lord

the chief of sin­ners

me for­give

And Thine the great­er glo­ry

on­ly Thine.

I hear Thy voice; Thou bidd’st me come and rest;

I come

I kneel

I clasp Thy pierc­èd feet;

Thou bidd’st me take my place

a wel­come guest

Among Thy saints

and of Thy ban­quet eat.

My praise can on­ly breathe it­self in pray­er

My pray­er can on­ly lose it­self in Thee;

Dwell Thou for­ev­er in my heart

and there

Lord

let me sup with Thee; sup Thou with me.