"Why, oh why," he cried in his heart as he listened, "has the world's great treasure of song been so often held far from the poor because the personal possessor of voice or fingers, capable of stirring divinest melody, has so often regarded the gift as something with which to make money? Shall there be no martyrs among the gifted ones of the earth? Shall there be no giving of this great gift as well as of others?"
[In His Steps, Sheldon, p. 231]
Consecrate me now to Thy service, Lord
By the power of grace divine
Let my soul look up with a steadfast hope
And my will be lost in Thine
Draw me nearer, nearer, blessed Lord
To the cross where Thou hast died
Draw me nearer, nearer, nearer blessed Lord
To Thy precious, bleeding side.
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