1  O God, unblessing and unblest,

    A withered plant, but not at rest,

    A useless cumberer I'm found

    Upon Thy field, Thy purchased ground;

    And yet I pray — "Do not forsake me,

    But in Thy hand, O Savior, take me.

 2  As women take unbroken flax,

    As molders take unshapen wax,

    As smith, the iron, rough and cold,

    A useful instrument to mold,

    So in Thy skillful hands, O take me,

    And never let Thy love forsake me."

 3  Like rock uncrushed, the stubborn will,

    Though bearing gold is barren still;

    Like marble in the quarry rough,

    The natural heart is useless stuff;

    And so, I pray — "Do not forsake me,

    But with Thy hand, O Savior, break me.

 4  As mortars crush the hardest rock,

    As hammers break the stony block,

    As millstones bruise the finest wheat,

    As nuts are broken for their meat,

    So with Thy mighty hand, O break me,

    And never let Thy love forsake me.

 5  Though crushed and broken, yet I'm nought

    But fragments to the furnace brought;

    Though bruised, I have no worth to feed

    The multitudes that die in need;

    And so, I pray — "Do not forsake me,

    But meet for service, Savior, make me.

 6  As into useful forms the ore

    From molten scraps the molders' pour;

    As fire doth make the bruisèd wheat,

    When mixed and molded, fit to eat;

    So, fit for use by fire, O make me,

    And never let Thy love forsake me."