The con­se­cra­tion hour is nigh,
And as these moments quick­ly fly,
We lin­ger here to meet our Lord,
And list­en for His gra­cious word.

Dependent on Thy love di­vine,
What have we, Lord, that is not Thine?
For Thou didst first each gift be­stow
And all things to Thy grace we owe.

Naught that we have our own we call;
To Thee we would de­vote our all;
And, if a sac­ri­fice it be,
We make it will­ing­ly for Thee.

Made strong by Thine in­dwell­ing grace
We will with cour­age run our race,
Looking to Thee, au­thor of faith:
Oh! make us faith­ful un­to death.