The pure and faithful saint, whose heart is whole,

To God the Father makes his sacrifice

From out the treasures of a stainless soul,

Glad gifts of innocence, beyond all price:

Another with free hand bestows his gold,

Whereby his needy neighbour may be fed.

No wealth of holiness my heart doth hold,

No store have I to buy my brothers bread:

So here I humbly dedicate to Thee

The rolling trochee and iambus swift;

Thou wilt approve my simple minstrelsy,

Thine ear will listen to Thy servant's gift.

The rich man's halls are nobly furnishèd;

Therein no nook or corner empty seems;

Here stands the brazen laver burnishèd,

And there the golden goblet brightly gleams;

Hard by some crock of clumsy earthen ware,

Massive and ample lies a silver plate;

And rough-hewn cups of oak or elm are there

With vases carved of ivory delicate.

Yet every vessel in its place is good,

So be it for the Master's service meet;

The priceless salver and the bowl of wood

Alike He needs to make His home complete.

Therefore within His Father's spacious hall

Christ fits me for the service of a day,

Mean though I be, a vessel poor and small,--

And in some lowly corner lets me stay.

Lo in the palace of the King of Kings

I play the earthen pitcher's humble part;

Yet to have done Him meanest service brings

A thrill of rapture to my thankful heart:

Whate'er the end, this thought will joy afford,

My lips have sung the praises of my Lord.