Classic Poem

Make use of me, my God!
Let me not be forgot;
A broken vessel cast aside,
One whom thou needest not.

I am thy creature, Lord;
And made by hands divine;
And I am part, however mean,
Of this great world of thine.

Thou usest all thy works,
The weakest things that be;
Each has a service of its own
For all things wait on thee.

Thou usest the high stars,
The tiny drops of dew,
The giant peak and little hill; —
My God, Oh use me too!

Thou usest tree and flower,
The rivers vast and small;
The eagle great, the little bird
That sings upon the wall.

Thou usest the wide sea,
The little hidden lake;
The pine upon the Alpine cliff,
The lily in the brake.

The huge rock in the vale,
The sand-grain by the sea,
The thunder of the rolling cloud,
The murmur of the bee.

All things do serve thee here,
All creatures, great and small;
Make use of me, of me, my God,
The meanest of them all!