They gave to thee
Myrrh, frankincense and gold
But, Lord with what shall we
Present ourselves before thy majesty,
Whom thou redeemedst when we were sold?
We've nothing but ourselves, and scarce that neither,
Vile dirt and clay;
Yet it is soft and may
Accept it, Lord, and say, this thou hadst rather;
Stamp it, and on this sordid metal make
The beauty of the golden mine.