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 scanned, 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 that I heard: But I have not often smiled Since then, nor questioned since, Nor cared for corn-flowers 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 contemned of a man, This marred 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.