It’s all a waste. What worth had it,
But just to feed the flame?
The effort wrought, the accomplishment—
Was everything in vain?

That into which I’d poured my all
Here, now, in ashes lay,
I thought I’d hearkened the noble call
But it seemed to waste away.

The best that I could offer up
Now lies as smoking coals—
Each fondest dream, each brim-full cup,
And all my worthy goals.

Each one placed on the altar—
How it shined with holy fire!
But as the smoke has blown afar,
There’s nought I can acquire.

Then, with a quaking majesty,
Yet, more tender than the dew,
His voice of power captured me
And whispered fresh and new.

“A sacrifice, an offering
Is all I ask of thee—
Not crowns or cities, priests or kings,
But pure humility.

I do not need you to remove
Great, rugged mountains high,
Or mend each worldly flaw and groove,
For that alone is Mine.

Each goal and aspiration,
Though noble they may be,
Are by My inspiration—
Yet, I have much more for thee.

They are provisions for sacrifice,
To be an offering;
What I desire more than price
Is drawing you to Me.

Those things are good and right to hold,
But greater they will be
When placed upon the fire
And offered willingly.

For, more than every noblest call,
More valuable by far,
Is when My child releases all
And gives her very heart.

Copyright © Elisabeth Linzey 2015

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