| 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? |
| Chorus |
| | | | 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, |
| | | 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. |
| 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. |
| 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. |
| 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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