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