| 1 |
Olives that have known no pressure No oil can bestow; If the grapes escape the winepress, Cheering wine can never flow; Spikenard only through the crushing, Fragrance can diffuse. Shall I then, Lord, shrink from suff'ring Which Thy love for me would choose? |
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Each blow I suffer Is true gain to me. In the place of what Thou takest Thou dost give Thyself to me. |
| 2 |
Do my heartstrings need Thy stretching, Songs divine to prove? Do I need for sweetest music Cruel treatment of Thy love? Lord, I fear no deprivation If it draws to Thee; I would yield in full surrender All Thy heart of love to see. |
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Each blow I suffer Is true gain to me. In the place of what Thou takest Thou dost give Thyself to me. |
| 3 |
I'm ashamed, my Lord, for seeking Self to guard alway; Though Thy love has done its stripping, Yet I've been compelled this way. Lord, according to Thy pleasure Fully work on me; Heeding not my human feelings, Only do what pleases Thee. |
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Each blow I suffer Is true gain to me. In the place of what Thou takest Thou dost give Thyself to me. |
| 4 |
If Thy mind and mine should differ, Still pursue Thy way; If Thy pleasure means my sorrow, Still my heart shall answer, "Yea!" 'Tis my deep desire to please Thee, Though I suffer loss; E'en though Thy delight and glory Mean that I endure the cross. |
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Each blow I suffer Is true gain to me. In the place of what Thou takest Thou dost give Thyself to me. |
| 5 |
Oh, I'll praise Thee, e'en if weeping Mingle with my song. Thine increasing sweetness calls forth Grateful praises all day long. Thou hast made Thyself more precious Than all else to me: Thou increase and I decrease, Lord — This is now my only plea. |
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Each blow I suffer Is true gain to me. In the place of what Thou takest Thou dost give Thyself to me. |