CONSECRATION
SUBMISSION, DEVOTION, PURITY
THE CHARIOTEER
O God, take the reins of my life!
I have driven it blindly, to left and to right,
In mock of the rock, in the chasm's despite,
Where the brambles were rife,
In the blaze of the sun and the deadliest black of the night.
O God, take the reins of my life!
For I am so weary and weak.
My hands are a-quiver and so is my heart,
And my eyes are too tired for the tear-drops to start,
And the worn horses reek
With the anguishing pull and the hot, heavy harness's smart,
While I am all weary and weak.
But Thou wilt be peace, wilt be power.
Thy hand on the reins and thine eye on the way
Shall be wisdom to guide and controlling to stay,
And my life in that hour
Shall be led into leading, and rest when it comes to obey;
For thou wilt be peace and all power.
Now, Lord, without tarrying, now!
While eyes can look up and while reason remains,
And my hand yet has strength to surrender the reins,
Ere death stamp my brow
And pour coldness and stillness through all the mad course of my veins—
Come, Lord, without tarrying, now!
I yield Thee my place, which is thine.
Appoint me to lie on the chariot floor;
Yea, appoint me to lie at thy feet, and no more,
While the glad axles shine,
And the happy wheels run on their course to the heavenly door,—
Now thou hast my place, which is thine.
—Amos R. Wells.
———
WHOLLY THE LORD'S
My whole though broken heart, O Lord,
From henceforth shall be thine;
And here I do my vow record—
This hand, these words are mine:
All that I have, without reserve,
I offer here to thee:
Thy will and honor all shall serve
That thou bestow'st on me.
All that exceptions save I lose;
All that I lose I save;
The treasures of thy love I choose,
And Thou art all I crave.
My God, thou hast my heart and hand;
I all to thee resign;
I'll ever to this covenant stand,
Though flesh hereat repine.
I know that Thou wast willing first,
And then drew my consent;
Having thus loved me at the worst
Thou wilt not now repent.
Now I have quit all self-pretense,
Take charge of what's thine own:
My life, my health, and my defense,
Now lie on thee alone.
—Richard Baxter.
———
THE LAST WISH
To do or not to do; to have
Or not to have, I leave to thee;
To be or not to be I leave;
Thy only will be done in me.
All my requests are lost in one:
Father, thy only will be done.
Suffice that, for the season past,
Myself in things divine I sought,
For comforts cried with eager haste,
And murmured that I found them not.
I leave it now to Thee alone:
Father, thy only will be done.
Thy gifts I clamor for no more,
Or selfishly thy grace require
An evil heart to varnish o'er;
Jesus, the Giver, I desire,
After the flesh no longer known:
Father, thy only will be done.
Welcome alike the crown or cross;
Trouble I cannot ask, nor peace,
Nor toil, nor rest, nor gain, nor loss,
Nor joy, nor grief, nor pain, nor ease,
Nor life, nor death, but ever groan,
Father, thy only will be done.
—Charles Wesley.
———
MORNING HYMN
O God! I thank thee for each sight
Of beauty that thy hand doth give;
For sunny skies and air and light;
O God, I thank thee that I live!
That life I consecrate to Thee;
And ever as the day is born,
On wings of joy my soul would flee
And thank thee for another morn;
Another day in which to cast
Some silent deed of love abroad,
That, greatening as it journeys past,
May do some earnest work for God;
Another day to do and dare;
To tax anew my growing strength;
To arm my soul with faith and prayer,
And so reach heaven and Thee at length.
—Caroline Atherton Mason.
———
"INTO THY HANDS"
Into Thy guiding hands;
Along a way thy love and care forefend
Gladly I fare, or rough or smooth may bend
The longest road that leads at life's far end
Into thy hands.
Into thy chastening hands:
If e'er I yield to weakness or to sin,
Blind to the guerdon Thou dost bid me win,
Bring Thou me back, by Love's sweet discipline,
Into thy hands.
Into Thy healing hands;
No hurt of soul or body long enthralls,
The bruiséd heart that for thy succor calls
When, far from doubting as from fear, it falls
Into thy hands.
Into thy saving hands:
Despite assoil, infirmity, mistake,
My life a perfect whole thy power can make,
If Thou my shards of broken purpose take
Into thy hands.
Into Thy keeping hands;
As safe as Heaven kept the guarded Grail—
So safe, so pure, so compassed as with mail—
The soul committed, e'en through Death's dark vale,
Into thy hands.
Into thy loving hands;
Who made my heart to love made Thee my guest;
Who made the world to tire made thee my rest;
My joyful heart I give, at thy behest,
Into thy hands.
—Louise Manning Hodgkins.
———
HERE AM I
My will would like a life of ease,
And power to do, and time to rest,
And health and strength my will would please,
But, Lord, I know thy will is best.
If I have strength to do thy will
That should be power enough for me,
Whether to work or to sit still
The appointment of the day may be.
And if by sickness I may grow
More patient, holy and resigned,
Strong health I need not wish to know,
And greater ease I cannot find.
And rest—I need not seek it here;
For perfect rest remaineth still;
When in thy presence we appear
Rest shall be given by thy will.
Lord I have given my life to thee,
And every day and hour is thine;
What thou appointest let them be:
Thy will is better, Lord, than mine.
—Anna B. Warner.
———
THE SACRIFICE OF THE WILL
Laid on thine altar, O my Lord Divine,
Accept my will this day, for Jesus' sake;
I have no jewels to adorn thy shrine—
Nor any world-proud sacrifice to make;
But here I bring within my trembling hand,
This will of mine—a thing that seemeth small,
And Thou alone, O God, canst understand
How, when I yield Thee this, I yield mine all.
Hidden therein, thy searching gaze can see
Struggles of passion—visions of delight—
All that I love, and am, and fain would be,
Deep loves, fond hopes, and longings infinite.
It hath been wet with tears and dimmed with sighs,
Clinched in my grasp, till beauty hath it none—
Now, from thy footstool where it vanquished lies,
The prayer ascendeth, "May thy will be done."
Take it, O 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 will, it may have been
So changed, so purified, so fair have grown,
So one with thee, so filled with peace divine,
I may not see nor know it as my own,
But, gaining back my will, may find it thine.
———
Manlike is it to fall into sin,
Fiendlike is it to dwell therein,
Christlike is it for sin to grieve,
Godlike is it all sin to leave.
—Friedrich von Logau.
———
O GOD OF TRUTH
O God of Truth, whose living word
Upholds whate'er hath breath,
Look down on thy creation, Lord,
Enslaved by sin and death.
Set up thy standard, Lord, that they
Who claim a heavenly birth
May march with thee to smite the lies
That vex thy ransomed earth.
Ah! would we join that blest array,
And follow in the might
Of Him, the Faithful and the True,
In raiment clean and white.
We fight for truth, we fight for God—
Poor slaves of lies and sin!
He who would fight for thee on earth
Must first be true within.
Thou God of Truth for whom we long—
Thou who wilt hear our prayer—
Do thine own battle in our hearts;
And slay the falsehood there.
Still smite! still burn! till naught is left
But God's own truth and love;
Then, Lord, as morning dew come down,
Rest on us from above.
Yea, come! then, tried as in the fire,
From every lie set free,
Thy perfect truth shall dwell in us,
And we shall live in Thee.
—Thomas Hughes.
———
GOD ONLY
Lord, in the strength of grace,
With a glad heart and free,
Myself, my residue of days,
I consecrate to Thee.
Thy ransomed servant, I
Restore to thee thine own;
And from this moment live or die
To serve my God alone.
—Charles Wesley.
———
In full and glad surrender we give ourselves to thee,
Thine utterly and only and evermore to be!
O Son of God, who lovest us, we will be thine alone,
And all we are and all we have shall henceforth be thine own.
—Frances Ridley Havergal.
———
GOD IS EVERYWHERE
A little bird I am,
Shut from the fields of air;
And in my cage I sit and sing
To him who placed me there;
Well pleased a prisoner to be,
Because, my God, it pleaseth thee.
Naught have I else to do;
I sing the whole day long;
And He whom most I love to please
Doth listen to my song;
He caught and bound my wandering wing,
But still he bends to hear me sing.
My cage confines me round,
Abroad I cannot fly;
But though my wings are closely bound
My heart's at liberty.
My prison walls cannot control
The flight, the freedom of my soul.
Oh, it is grand to soar
These bolts and bars above
To Him whose purpose I adore,
Whose providence I love!
And in thy mighty will to find
The joy, the freedom of the mind.
—Madame Guyon.
———
A CONSECRATED LIFE
Take my life and let it be
Consecrated, Lord, to thee.
Take my moments and my days;
Let them flow in ceaseless praise.
Take my hands, and let them move
At the impulse of thy love.
Take my feet and let them be
Swift and "beautiful" for Thee.
Take my voice, and let me sing
Always, only, for my King.
Take my lips, and let them be
Filled with messages from Thee.
Take my silver and my gold;
Not a mite would I withhold.
Take my intellect, and use
Every power as Thou shalt choose.
Take my will and make it Thine;
It shall be no longer mine.
Take my heart; it is thine own;
It shall be thy royal throne.
Take my love; my Lord, I pour
At thy feet its treasure-store.
Take myself, and I will be
Ever, only, all for Thee.
—Frances Ridley Havergal.
———
UNION WITH GOD
Strong are the walls around me,
That hold me all the day;
But they who thus have bound me
Cannot keep God away:
My very dungeon walls are dear,
Because the God I love is here.
They know, who thus oppress me,
'Tis hard to be alone;
But know not One can bless me
Who comes through bars and stone.
He makes my dungeon's darkness bright
And fills my bosom with delight.
Thy love, O God! restores me
From sighs and tears to praise;
And deep my soul adores thee
Nor thinks of time or place:
I ask no more, in good or ill,
But union with thy holy will.
'Tis that which makes my treasure,
'Tis that which brings my gain;
Converting woe to pleasure.
And reaping joy from pain.
Oh, 'tis enough, whate'er befall,
To know that God is All in All.
—Madame Guyon.
———
DEDICATED
O Lord, thy heavenly grace impart,
And fix my frail, inconstant heart;
Henceforth my chief desire shall be
To dedicate myself to thee.
Whate'er pursuits my time employ,
One thought shall fill my soul with joy:
That silent, secret thought shall be
That all my hopes are fixed on thee.
Thy glorious eye pervadeth space;
Thy presence, Lord, fills every place;
And wheresoe'er my lot may be
Still shall my spirit cleave to thee.
Renouncing every worldly thing,
And safe beneath thy spreading wing,
My sweetest thought henceforth shall be
That all I want I find in thee.
—Jean F. Oberlin.
———
LEAVING ALL
Jesus, I my cross have taken,
All to leave and follow thee;
Naked, poor, despised, forsaken,
Thou, from hence, my all shalt be:
Perish every fond ambition,
All I've sought, and hoped, and known;
Yet how rich is my condition,
God and heaven are still my own!
Let the world despise and leave me,
They have left my Saviour too;
Human hearts and looks deceive me;
Thou art not, like man, untrue;
And while thou shalt smile upon me,
God of wisdom, love, and might,
Foes may hate, and friends may shun me;
Show thy face, and all is bright.
Go, then, earthly fame and treasure!
Come, disaster, scorn, and pain!
In Thy service, pain is pleasure;
With thy favor, loss is gain.
I have called thee, "Abba, Father";
I have stayed my heart on thee:
Storms may howl, and clouds may gather,
All must work for good to me.
Man may trouble and distress me,
'Twill but drive me to Thy breast;
Life with trials hard may press me,
Heaven will bring me sweeter rest.
O 'tis not in grief to harm me,
While thy love is left to me;
O 'twere not in joy to charm me,
Were that joy unmixed with thee.
Know, my soul, thy full salvation;
Rise o'er sin, and fear, and care;
Joy to find in every station
Something still to do or bear.
Think what Spirit dwells within thee;
What a Father's smile is thine;
What a Saviour died to win thee:
Child of heaven, shouldst thou repine?
Haste thee on from grace to glory,
Armed by faith, and winged by prayer;
Heaven's eternal day's before thee,
God's own hand shall guide thee there.
Soon shall close thy earthly mission,
Swift shall pass thy pilgrim days,
Hope shall change to glad fruition,
Faith to sight, and prayer to praise.
—Henry F. Lyte.
———
CHOOSE THOU
Thy way, not mine, O Lord!
However dark it be;
Lead me by Thine own hand,
Choose out the path for me.
Smooth let it be, or rough,
It will be still the best;
Winding or straight it matters not,
It leads me to Thy rest.
I dare not choose my lot,
I would not if I might;
Choose Thou for me, O God!
So shall I walk aright.
The kingdom that I seek
Is Thine; so let the way
That leads to it be thine
Else I must surely stray.
Take Thou my cup, and it
With joy or sorrow fill;
As best to Thee may seem;
Choose Thou my good or ill.
Choose Thou for me my friends
My sickness or my health;
Choose thou my cares for me,
My poverty or wealth.
Not mine, not mine the choice
In things or great or small;
Be Thou my guide, my strength,
My wisdom and my all.
—Horatius Bonar.
———
ONLY TO-DAY
Only to-day is mine,
And that I owe to Thee;
Help me to make it thine;
As pure as it may be;
Let it see something done,
Let it see something won,
Then at the setting sun
I'll give it back to thee.
What if I cannot tell
The cares the day may bring?
I know that I shall dwell
Beneath Thy sheltering wing;
And there the load is light;
And there the dark is bright,
And weakness turns to might,
What shall I ask to-day?
Naught but Thine own sweet will;
The windings of the way
Lead to thy holy hill;
And whether here or there
Why should I fear or care?
Thy heavens are everywhere,
And they are o'er me still.
Give me Thyself to-day,
I dare not walk alone;
Speak to me by the way,
And "all things are my own";
The treasures of thy grace,
The secret hiding place,
The vision of thy face,
The shadow of thy throne!
—Henry Burton.
———
THE OFFERING
No more my own, Lord Jesus,
Bought with thy precious blood,
I give thee but thine own, Lord,
That long thy love withstood.
I give the life thou gavest,
My present, future, past;
My joys, my fears, my sorrows,
My first hope and my last.
I give thee up my weakness
That oft distrust hath bred,
That thy indwelling power
May thus be perfected.
I give the love the sweetest
Thy goodness grants to me;
Take it, and make it meet, Lord,
For offering to thee.
Smile, and the very shadows
In thy blest light shall shine;
Take thou my heart, Lord Jesus,
For thou hast made it thine.
Thou knowest my soul's ambition,
For thou hast changed its aim
(The world's reproach I fear not)
To share a Saviour's shame.
Outside the camp to suffer;
Within the veil to meet,
And hear Thy softest whisper
From out the mercy-seat.
Thou bear'st me in thy bosom,
Amidst thy jewels worn,
Upon thy hands deep graven
By arms of love upborne.
Rescued from sin's destruction,
Ransomed from death and hell;
Complete in Thee, Lord Jesus:
Thou hast done all things well.
Oh, deathless love that bought me!
Oh, price beyond my ken!
Oh, Life that hides my own life
E'en from my fellow-men!
Now fashion, form and fill me
With light and love divine;
So, one with Thee, Lord Jesus,
I'm thine—forever thine!
———
I IN THEE AND THOU IN ME
I am but clay in thy hands, but Thou art the all-loving artist;
Passive I lie in thy sight, yet in my self-hood I strive
So to embody the life and the love thou ever impartest,
That in my sphere of the finite I may be truly alive.
Knowing Thou needest this form, as I thy divine inspiration,
Knowing thou shapest the clay with a vision and purpose divine,
So would I answer each touch of thy hand in its loving creation,
That in my conscious life thy power and beauty may shine.
Reflecting the noble intent Thou hast in forming thy creatures;
Waking from sense into life of the soul, and the image of thee;
Working with thee in thy work to model humanity's features
Into the likeness of God, myself from myself I would free.
One with all human existence, no one above or below me;
Lit by Thy wisdom and love, as roses are steeped in the morn;
Growing from clay to a statue, from statue to flesh, till thou know me
Wrought into manhood celestial, and in thine image reborn.
So in thy love will I trust, bringing me sooner or later
Past the dark screen that divides these shows of the finite from Thee.
Thine, thine only, this warm dear life, O loving Creator!
Thine the invisible future, born of the present, must be.
—Christopher Pearse Cranch.
———
ON THEE MY HEART IS RESTING
On Thee my heart is resting:
Ah! this is rest indeed!
What else, Almighty Saviour,
Can a poor sinner need?
Thy light is all my wisdom,
Thy love is all my stay;
Our Father's home in glory
Draws nearer every day.
Great is my guilt, but greater
The mercy Thou dost give;
Thyself, a spotless offering,
Hast died that I should live.
With Thee my soul unfettered
Has risen from the dust;
Thy blood is all my treasure;
Thy word is all my trust.
Through me, thou gentle Master,
Thy purposes fulfill:
I yield myself forever
To thy most holy will.
What though I be but weakness
My strength is not in me;
The poorest of thy people
Has all things, having Thee.
When clouds are darkest round me,
Thou, Lord, art then most near,
My drooping faith to quicken,
My weary soul to cheer.
Safe nestling in thy bosom,
I gaze upon thy face.
In vain my foes would drive me
From Thee, my hiding-place.
'Tis Thou hast made me happy;
'Tis thou hast set me free.
To whom shall I give glory
Forever but to Thee!
Of earthly love and blessing
Should every stream run dry,
Thy grace shall still be with me—
Thy grace to live and die!
—Theodore Monod.
———
WHOM HAVE I IN HEAVEN BUT THEE?
I love, and have some cause to love, the earth;
She is my Maker's creature, therefore good;
She is my mother, for she gave me birth;
She is my tender nurse, she gives me food;
But what's a creature, Lord, compared with Thee?
Or what's my mother or my nurse to me?
The highest honors that the world can boast
Are subjects far too low for my desire;
The brightest beams of glory are, at most,
But dying sparkles of thy living fire;
The proudest flames that earth can kindle be
But nightly glowworms if compared to Thee.
Without thy presence, wealth are bags of cares;
Wisdom, but folly; joy, disquiet, sadness;
Friendship is treason, and delights are snares;
Pleasure's but pain, and mirth but pleasing madness:
Without Thee, Lord, things be not what they be,
Nor have their being when compared with Thee.
In having all things, and not Thee, what have I?
Not having Thee, what have my labors got?
Let me enjoy but Thee, what further crave I?
And having Thee alone, what have I not?
I wish nor sea nor land; nor would I be
Possess'd of heaven, heaven unpossess'd of thee.
—Francis Quarles.
———
Only for Jesus! Lord, keep it ever
Sealed on the heart, and engraved on the life;
Pulse of all gladness, and nerve of endeavor,
Secret of rest and the strength of our strife.
—Frances Ridley Havergal.
———
SINCE FIRST THY WORD AWAKED MY HEART
Since first thy word awaked my heart,
Like new life dawning o'er me,
Where'er I turn my eyes, Thou art
All light and love before me.
Nought else I feel or hear or see,
All bonds of earth I sever,
Thee, O God, and only thee,
I live for now and ever.
Like him whose fetters dropped away
When light shone o'er his prison,
My spirit, touched by mercy's ray,
Hath from her chains arisen.
And shall a soul Thou bid'st be free
Return to bondage? Never!
Thee, O God, and only thee,
I live for now and ever.
—Thomas Moore.
———
WE GIVE ALL
And now we only ask to serve,
We do not ask to rest;
We would give all without reserve,
Our life, our love, our best.
We only ask to see His face,
It is enough for us;
We only ask the lowest place,
So he may smile on us.
—Mary E. Townsend.
———
THE TWO WORLDS
Unveil, O Lord, and on us shine
In glory and in grace;
The gaudy world grows pale before
The beauty of thy face.
Till Thou art seen, it seems to be
A sort of fairy ground,
Where suns unsetting light the sky,
And flowers and fruits abound,
But when Thy keener, purer beam
Is poured upon our sight,
It loses all its power to charm,
And what was day is night.
Its noblest toils are then the scourge
Which made Thy blood to flow;
Its joys are but the treacherous thorns
Which circled round thy brow.
And thus, when we renounce for Thee
Its restless aims and fears,
The tender memories of the past,
The hopes of coming years,
Poor is our sacrifice, whose eyes
Are lighted from above;
We offer what we cannot keep,
What we have ceased to love.
—John Henry Newman.
———
SELF-SURRENDER
Saviour, who died for me,
I give myself to thee;
Thy love, so full, so free,
Claims all my powers.
Be this my purpose high,
To serve Thee till I die,
Whether my path shall lie
'Mid thorns or flowers.
But, Lord, the flesh is weak;
Thy gracious aid I seek,
For thou the word must speak
That makes me strong.
Then let me hear thy voice,
Thou art my only choice;
O bid my heart rejoice;
Be thou my song.
May it be joy to me
To follow only Thee;
Thy faithful servant be,
Thine to the end.
For Thee I'll do and dare,
For thee the cross I'll bear,
To thee direct my prayer,
On thee depend.
Saviour, with me abide;
Be ever near my side;
Support, defend, and guide.
I look to thee.
I lay my hand in thine,
And fleeting joys resign,
If I may call thee mine
Eternally.
—Mary J. Mason.
———
For all the sins that cling to thee
Let wide the gates of pardon be;
But hope not thou shalt smuggle through
The little sin thou clingest to.
—F. Langbridge.
———
GOD ALONE LOVED
Do I not love thee, Lord most high,
In answer to thy love for me!
I seek no other liberty
But that of being bound to Thee.
May memory no thought suggest
But shall to thy pure glory tend;
May understanding find no rest
Except in Thee, its only end.
My God, I here protest to Thee
No other will I have than thine;
Whatever thou hast given me
I here again to Thee resign.
All mine is thine, say but the word;
Whate'er Thou willest—be it done;
I know thy love, all-gracious Lord—
I know it seeks my good alone.
Apart from Thee all things are naught;
Then grant, O my supremest bliss!
Grant me to love Thee as I ought;
Thou givest all in giving this.
—Ignatius Loyola, tr. by Edward Caswall.
———
THE ACQUIESCENCE OF PURE LOVE
To me 'tis equal whether love ordain
My life or death, appoint me pain or ease
My soul perceives no real ill in pain,
In ease or health no real good she sees.
One good she covets, and that good alone,
To choose thy will, from selfish bias free;
And to prefer a cottage to a throne,
And grief to comfort, if it pleases Thee.
That we should bear the cross is Thy command,
Die to the world and live to self no more;
Suffer unmoved beneath the rudest hand
When shipwrecked pleased as when upon the shore.
—Madame Guyon, tr. by William Cowper.
———
I preached as never sure to preach again,
And as a dying man to dying men.
—Richard Baxter.
———
PRESSING TOWARD THE MARK
Thee will I love, my strength and tower,
Thee will I love, my joy and crown,
Thee will I love with all my power,
In all my works, and Thee alone.
Thee will I love, till that pure fire
Fills my whole soul with strong desire.
Give to mine eyes refreshing tears;
Give to my heart chaste, hallowed fires;
Give to my soul, with filial fears
The love that all heaven's host inspires;
That all my powers, with all their might,
In thy sole glory may unite.
Thee will I love, my joy, my crown,
Thee will I love, my Lord, my God;
Thee will I love beneath thy frown
Or smile, thy scepter or thy rod;
What though my head and flesh decay?
Thee shall I love in endless day.
—Johann A. Scheffler, tr. by John Wesley.
———
DWELL DEEP
Dwell deep! The little things that chafe and fret,
O waste not golden hours to give them heed!
The slight, the thoughtless wrong, do thou forget,
Be self-forgot in serving others' need.
Thou faith in God through love for man shalt keep.
Dwell deep, my soul, dwell deep.
Dwell deep! Forego the pleasure if it bring
Neglect of duty; consecrate each thought;
Believe thou in the good of everything,
And trust that all unto the wisest end is wrought.
Bring thou this comfort unto all who weep:
Dwell deep, my soul, dwell deep.
—James Buckham.
———
Out from thyself, thyself depart;
God then shall fill thine empty heart;
Cast from thy soul life's selfish dream—
In flows the Godhead's living stream.
—Scheffler, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.