But all I have is worthless and unfit for offering;
A foolish heart, a foolish dream, a foolish, fruitless pain,—
Such are my all; O Love of Love, do not the gift disdain!
And even as earthly monarchs do, who take the tribute given,
And quick restore, by royal grace increased to seven times seven,
So take, O Lord, my offering, and vouchsafe me presently,
For emptiness thy fulness, for my hunger thy supply.
I lay my heart down at thy feet, that tired heart and old,
Whose youthful throb has grown so faint, whose youthful fire so cold;
Heart of the world’s heart, Lord of joy, and mighty Lord of pain,