W. Nee
OLIVES that have known no pressure
Never can oil bestow;
If the grapes escape the winepress,
Cheering wine can never flow;
Spikenard only through the crushing,
Its fragrance can diffuse.
Shall I then, shrink from the suff’ring
That Thy love would so induce?
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 heart-strings need Thy stretching,
Music divine to prove?
Must the sweetest music come from
The harsh treatment of Thy love?
Lord, I fear no deprivation
If I be drawn to Thee;
I would yield in full surrender
All Thy heart of love to see.
3
I’m ashamed, my Lord, for seeking
Myself to guard alway;
Though Thy love had done its stripping,
Yet I felt compelled Thy way.
Lord, according to Thy pleasure
Complete Thy work in me;
Heeding not my human feelings,
Only do what pleases Thee.
4
If Thy mind and mine should differ,
Pursue, O Lord, Thy way;
If Thy pleasure means my sorrow,
Still my heart shall answer, “Yea!”
’Tis my deep desire to please Thee,
Though I might suffer loss;
E’en though Thy delight and glory
Mean that I endure the cross.
5
Oh, I’ll praise Thee, e’en if weeping
Be mingled with my song.
Thine increasing sweetness calls forth
Grateful praises all day long.
Thou hast made Thyself more precious
Than everything to me:
Thou increase and I decrease, Lord—
This is now my only plea.