Lord, I have laid my heart upon thy altar br But cannot get the wood to burn; br It hardly flares ere it begins to falter br And to the dark return. br br Old sap, or night-fallen dew, makes damp the fuel; br In vain my breath would flame provoke; br Yet see-at every poor attempt's renewal br To thee ascends the smoke! br br 'Tis all I have-smoke, failure, foiled endeavour, br Coldness and doubt and palsied lack: br Such as I have I send thee!-perfect Giver, br Send thou thy lightning back.