1 O God, unblessing and unblest,
A withered plant, but not at rest,
Upon Thy field, Thy purchased ground;
2 As women take unbroken flax,
As smith, the iron, rough and cold,
3 Like rock uncrushed, the stubborn will,
Though bearing gold is barren still;
Like marble in the quarry rough,
The natural heart is useless stuff;
4 As mortars crush the hardest rock,
As hammers break the stony block,
As millstones bruise the finest wheat,
As nuts are broken for their meat,
5 Though crushed and broken, yet I'm nought
But fragments to the furnace brought;
Though bruised, I have no worth to feed
The multitudes that die in need;
6 As into useful forms the ore
From molten scraps the molders' pour;
As fire doth make the bruis鑔 wheat,
When mixed and molded, fit to eat;