The Offerings to Thy Throne Which Rise

The of­fer­ings to Thy throne which rise

Of min­gled praise and pray­er;

Are but a worth­less sac­ri­fice

Unless the heart is there.

Upon Thy all dis­cern­ing ear

Let no vain words in­trude:

No tri­bute—but the vow sin­cere—

The tri­bute of the good.

My of­fer­ings will in­deed be blest

If sanc­ti­fied by Thee;

If Thy pure Spir­it touch my heart

With its own pur­ity.

O may that Spir­it warm my heart

To pi­ety and love;

And to life’s low­ly vale im­part

Some rays from Heav­en ab­ove.