O God, Would I Might Bring to Thee

O God

would I might bring to Thee

Of rip­ened grain an au­tumn yield;

But midst my har­vest sheaves I see

The places waste with­in my field.

I take Thy pro­mise to my heart:

Thy plac­es waste will I re­store.

Never shall hope or joy de­part

If love so tri­umph ev­er­more.

My waste of time—Im­mor­tal One

Alone eter­ni­ty may take

And bind my loss­es to Thy throne

To make them gains for love’s dear sake.

My waste of pow­er—Thy wis­dom

Lord

Will show me things worth while at length;

Then I will bat­tle in ac­cord

With love’s en­fold­ing arm of strength.

The waste that sin has wrought in me

Beneath Thy cross is all re­stored;

My time

my pow­er

my heart to Thee

My life re­newed I give

Thee

Lord.