Once I thought to sit so high

in the palace of the sky;

now, I thank God for His grace,

if I may fill the lowest place.

 

Once I thought to scale so soon

heights above the changing moon;

now, I thank God for delay

to-day, it yet is called to-day.

 

While I stumble, halt and blind,

lo! He waiteth to be kind;

bless me soon, or bless me slow,

except He bless, I let not go.

 

Once for earth I laid my plan,

once I leaned on strength of man,

when my hope was swept aside,

I stayed my broken heart on pride:

broken reed hath pierced my hand;

fell my house I built on sand;

roofless, wounded, maimed by sin,

fightings without and fears within:

Yet, a tree, He feeds my root;

yet, a branch, He prunes for fruit;

 

Yet, a tree, He feeds my root;

yet, a branch, He prunes for fruit;

yet, a sheep, these eves and morns,

He seeks for me among the thorns.

 

With Thine image stamped of old,

find Thy coin more choice than gold;

known to Thee by name, recall

to Thee Thy home-sick prodigal.

 

Sacrifice and offering

none there is that I can bring,

none, save what is Thine alone:

I bring Thee, Lord, but of Thine own-

broken body, blood outpoured,

these I bring, my God, my Lord;

wine of life, and living bread,

with these for me Thy board is spread.

 

Christina Rossetti. (England, 1830-1894)