Each longing o’er the future cast,
Each brave resolve,—each spoken vow,—
Jesus, our Lord! accept them now.
Whate’er beneath Thy searching eyes
Has wrought to spoil our sacrifice;
Aught of presumption, over bold,
The dross we vainly brought for gold;
If we have knelt at alien shrine,
Or insincerely bowed at Thine,
Or basely offered blind and lame,