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PERFECT LOVE

O God! this is my plea,
What’er the process be,
This love to know.
And if the prize to gain,
Through sorrow, toil and pain
I go, e’er self be slain,
Amen! I go.

Rooted and grounded! yes,
For this I plead, O! bless
My waiting soul.
Will not this proud heart melt
Unless the rod be felt?
In mercy be it dealt,
And make me whole.

To Thee I humbly bow
And pray Thou wilt e’en now
The work begin.
‘Tis all that I desire
This fulness to acquire;
This one great purifier
Dwelling within. E. M.

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— December, 1888 —