Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold :: :: University of Virginia Library

Father, I have not much to give,
Not honour that should be
To the dear Light wherein I live,
And all was given by Thee;
For gold and silver have I none,
And grandeur of high place
Or glory of great service done,
My worship cannot grace;

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No wisdom do I bring, no lore
That were an incense sweet,
No treasures of one worthy store,
To render at Thy feet.

But yet, my Father I would come,
If not with costly price
That of its fulness yields but some,
To pay my sacrifice;
For without Thee I err and fall,
Nor could I offer less
When unto Thee I offer all
I am and I possess;
And here before Thee now I lay,
Though not in pompous rites,
And only as a beggar may,
My tribute of “two mites.”

Father, my mortal body take,
A trouble long to me,
And with Thy touch its weakness make
A temple fit for Thee;
Come, in the blessing that is power
To this frail dying flesh,
And in it as in Eden's bower
Thy will shall bloom afresh;
My lips and hands and feet refine.
Although they seek Thee late,
Stamp them with the pure seal Divine
For Thee, and consecrate.

And O my Father, keep this heart
Which cannot keep its own,
That it may never more depart
From Thee, when truly known;
Yes, take my sinful soul, that turns
At times to folly still,
And as Thy love within it burns
Show that alone can fill;
No tempest then my trust will shake,
If self has wholly died,

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And in Thy likeness when I wake
I shall be satisfied.

Father, I may not bring Thee more,
I cannot bring Thee less
Than what Thou didst bestow before,
To clothe my nakedness;
And when my joys I reckon up
On this brief earthly stage,
Thou art the portion of my cup
And all my heritage;
And if I come as beggars lone
Whom fortune rudely smites,
Or give as kings upon their throne,
I only give “two mites.”