1 O God, would I might bring to Thee
Of ripened grain an autumn yield;
But midst my harvest sheaves I see
The places waste within my field.

2 I take Thy promise to my heart:
Thy places waste will I restore.
Never shall hope or joy depart
If love so triumph evermore.

3 My waste of time—Immortal One,
Alone eternity may take
And bind my losses to Thy throne,
To make them gains for love’s dear sake.

4 My waste of power—Thy wisdom, Lord,
Will show me things worth while at length;
Then I will battle in accord
With love’s enfolding arm of strength.

5 The waste that sin has wrought in me,
Beneath Thy cross is all restored;
My time, my power, my heart to Thee,
My life renewed I give, Thee, Lord.