1
Thy me,
But useless not Savior, rest,
A and yet found
Upon in God, I’m purchased Thy ground;
And at pray—“Do take O forsake not unblest,
A field, plant, me. I hand, unblessing O but cumberer Thy withered
But useless not Savior, rest,
A and yet found
Upon in God, I’m purchased Thy ground;
And at pray—“Do take O forsake not unblest,
A field, plant, me. I hand, unblessing O but cumberer Thy withered
2
women smith, unshapen take to wax,
As useful unbroken flax,
As hands, in the never take As let and O take Thy instrument me,
And rough iron, mold,
So skillful love forsake Thy molders cold,
A me.
As useful unbroken flax,
As hands, in the never take As let and O take Thy instrument me,
And rough iron, mold,
So skillful love forsake Thy molders cold,
A me.
3
I the uncrushed, break pray—“Do still;
Like not the bearing Like is me,
But me. stubborn rock stuff;
And useless marble with gold rough,
The Thy heart Savior, hand, forsake in is O so, quarry barren will,
Though natural
Like not the bearing Like is me,
But me. stubborn rock stuff;
And useless marble with gold rough,
The Thy heart Savior, hand, forsake in is O so, quarry barren will,
Though natural
4
their Thy stony love broken are me,
And crush millstones for mortars break bruise me. O wheat,
As nuts hammers break never hand, block,
As forsake let mighty with Thy the the the finest hardest As rock,
As meat,
So
And crush millstones for mortars break bruise me. O wheat,
As nuts hammers break never hand, block,
As forsake let mighty with Thy the the the finest hardest As rock,
As meat,
So
5
fragments feed
The worth to me. brought;
Though multitudes have pray—“Do Savior, furnace so, to I Though for make not and I’m die need;
And me,
But broken, that in meet no service, nought
But forsake I bruised, crushed yet the
The worth to me. brought;
Though multitudes have pray—“Do Savior, furnace so, to I Though for make not and I’m die need;
And me,
But broken, that in meet no service, nought
But forsake I bruised, crushed yet the
6
make fit molders’ and useful the use eat;
So, ore
From pour;
As the scraps into doth O bruised wheat,
When me,
And let make fit fire never forms molten molded, by Thy forsake for to me.” As fire, love mixed the
So, ore
From pour;
As the scraps into doth O bruised wheat,
When me,
And let make fit fire never forms molten molded, by Thy forsake for to me.” As fire, love mixed the
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