"Jesus, I ne'er can pay The debt I owe thy love." I am, and ever will be, "debtor." Thy gifts to me have been so great that, though my giving cannot enrich thee, I would fain relieve my grateful heart by giving thee some token of love. In the stable at Bethlehem the Eastern sages open their costly treasures. The sight is a strange one, and there seems a strange incongruity between the gifts and the receiver; also between the giver and the receiver. The wise men bow before a babe, and lavish the riches of the East upon the infant of the lowly manger. "Lavish," did I say? Let not the thought of waste be here implied. This babe is "the holy child Jesus," the King of the Jews. Bring costly sacrifices. "The kings of Tarshish and of the isles shall bring presents; the kings of Sheba and Seba shall offer gifts. Yea, all kings shall fall down before him; all nations shall serve him." Jesus, Saviour, once a child! Jesus, my exalted King! what shall I bring to thy footstool? What shall I give my Lord? "Were the whole realm of nature mine, That were a present far too small." But I am poor, very poor. No good works have I to bring; no incense of holy prayers; no golden thoughts in which there mingles no alloy of impurity. "Thou willest that thy bride should be-- I bless thy will--most poor, most low, Receiving everything from thee, My Lord and God. Then be it so. "That I have nothing of my own, Freely and gladly I to all declare. This is my portion, this alone, That thou permittest me thy name to bear." Have I then nothing to give? Stay, holy Christ; I have a heart. True, it is polluted--more than this, it is broken--yet I have heard that though "Our God requires a whole heart or none, Yet he will accept a broken one." Accept the gift. Take it and make it holy; fill it with love to thee. Fill it even to overflowing; so that, having received all from thee, I may be able to give thee all. Let me be wholly thine--thine in every thought and passion of my soul. Here, Lord, I give my soul to thee; I am thine. "Poor heart of mine, awake, arise! And thou, my Bridegroom, my life's Sun, Draw me to reach the heavenly prize, Oh, do thou draw, and we will run. Draw after thee thy fainting bride, Who still is far, too far, from light and grace; Till in thy presence, at thy side, She see thee wholly--see thee face to face."