“Thou Searcher of all hearts look down and see,
Not if the chaff doth most abound in me,
But if there be a tithe of grain for Thee―
A tithe for Thee, in all the unfruitful place!
All the day long before the winds of grace
My chaff upriseth in Thy patient face.
My lying down, my path, my ways how poor,
My wasted moments, husks bestrew my floor;
And still Thou searchest by the garner door.
Content to stoop, if so upon the ground
One grain of truth, one ear of love be found,
So doth Thy patience, dearest Lord, abound!”