Laid on Thy altar, my Lord divine,
Accept my gift this day for Jesus’ sake;
I have no jewels to adorn Thy shrine,
Nor any world-famed sacrifice to make.

But here I bring within my trembling hand
This will of mine — a thing that seemeth small,
And only Thou, dear Lord, canst understand
How, when I yield Thee this, I yield mine all.

Hidden therein Thy searching eyes can see
Struggles of passions, visions of delight,
All that I love or am, or fain would be –-
Deep loves, fond hopes, and longing infinite.

It hath been wet with tears and dimmed with sighs,
Clinched in my grasp ’til beauty it hath none,
Now, from Thy footstool, where it vanquished lies,
The prayer ascendeth, O may Thy will be done.

Take it, Oh Father, ere my courage fail;
And merge it so in Thine own will that e’en
If in some desperate hour my cries prevail
And Thou give back my gift, it may have been

So changed, so purified, so fair have grown,
So one with Thee, so filled with peace divine,
I may not know, or feel it as my own,
But gaining back my will, may find it Thine.

Anonymous – Eustace book p.427 (bottom numbering)