“I TOOK my heart in my hand  

  (O my love, O my love),  

I said: Let me fall or stand,  

  Let me live or die,  

But this once hear me speak         

  (O my love, O my love)—  

Yet a woman's words are weak;  

  You should speak, not I.  

 

You took my heart in your hand  

  With a friendly smile,  

With a critical eye you scann'd,  

  Then set it down,  

And said, 'It is still unripe,  

  Better wait awhile;  

Wait while the skylarks pipe,  

  Till the corn grows brown.'  

As you set it down it broke—  

  Broke, but I did not wince;  

I smiled at the speech you spoke,  

  At your judgement I heard

But I have not often smiled  

  Since then, nor question'd since,  

Nor cared for cornflowers wild,  

  Nor sung with the singing bird.  

 

I take my heart in my hand,  

  O my God, O my God,  

My broken heart in my hand:  

  Thou hast seen, judge Thou.  

My hope was written on sand,  

  O my God, O my God:  

Now let thy judgement stand—  

  Yea, judge me now.  

 

This contemn'd of a man,  

  This marr'd one heedless day,  

This heart take thou to scan  

  Both within and without:  

Refine with fire its gold,  

  Purge Thou its dross away—  

Yea, hold it in Thy hold,  

  Whence none can pluck it out.  

 

I take my heart in my hand—  

  I shall not die, but live—  

Before Thy face I stand;  

  I, for Thou callest such:  

All that I have I bring,  

  All that I am I give,  

Smile Thou and I shall sing,  

  But shall not question much.”