Lyrics
1 ART thou weary, art thou languid,
Art thou sore distrest?
"Come to me," saith One, "and coming
Be at rest!"
2 Hath he marks to lead me to him,
If he be my guide?
"In his feet and hands are wound-prints,
And his side."
3 Hath he diadem as monarch
That his brow adorns?
"Yea, a crown, in very surety,
But of thorns!"
4 If I find him, if I follow,
What his guerdon here?
"Many a sorrow, many a labour,
Many a tear."
5 If I still hold closely to him,
What hath he at last?
"Sorrow vanquished, labour ended,
Jordan past."
6 If I ask him to receive me,
Will he say me nay?
"Not till earth, and not till heaven
Pass away."