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