1 Olives that have known no pressure
If the grapes escape the winepress,
Spikenard only through the crushing,
Each blow I suffer
Is true gain to me.
In the place of what Thou takest
Thou dost give Thyself to me.
2 Do my heartstrings need Thy stretching,
Each blow I suffer
Is true gain to me.
In the place of what Thou takest
Thou dost give Thyself to me.
3 I'm ashamed, my Lord, for seeking
Though Thy love has done its stripping,
Yet I've been compelled this way.
Lord, according to Thy pleasure
Each blow I suffer
Is true gain to me.
In the place of what Thou takest
Thou dost give Thyself to me.
4 If Thy mind and mine should differ,
If Thy pleasure means my sorrow,
Still my heart shall answer, "Yea!"
'Tis my deep desire to please Thee,
Each blow I suffer
Is true gain to me.
In the place of what Thou takest
Thou dost give Thyself to me.
5 Oh, I'll praise Thee, e'en if weeping
Thine increasing sweetness calls forth
Grateful praises all day long.
Thou hast made Thyself more precious
Each blow I suffer
Is true gain to me.
In the place of what Thou takest
Thou dost give Thyself to me.