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 stars on high,
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 stretch­ing sea,
The lit­tle hid­den lake;
The pine up­on the al­pine cliff,
The li­ly in the brake.

The tow­er­ing rock in 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!