Ope Thou mine ear, dear Lord, that I may hear
Thy Word, and hearing hasten to obey;
Let not the clamoring voice of sense dissuade,
Nor fear my glad obedience delay.
In Thy rich vineyard, Lord, give me a place
Where with faith-strengthened hands I may remove
The stifling weeds of self, or grief, or fear
From some sad heart who has not learned to love.
Or let me turn the hardened sods of hate,
And with the unselfed prong of tenderness
Probe deep and find the parched seeds of faith,
And gently shower them into fruitfulness.
Or if some timid one there be who knows
Not yet his royal heritage, be mine
The task to take his hand, and prove him now
Endowed with precious gifts as son of Thine.
So rich the guerdons, Lord, Thou hast for me—
So much I lack! . . . But I shall serve Thee best
When, clad in robes of prayer and praise, I stand
And know that each least child of Thine is blest.
