Art Thou Weary

Art thou weary, art thou languid,
Art thou sore distrest?
“Come to Me,” saith One, “and coming,
Be at rest.”


Hath He marks to lead me to Him,
If He be my guide?
“In His feet and hands are wound-prints,
His side.”


Is there diadem, as monarch,
That His brow adorns?
“Yea, a crown, in very surety,
But of thorns.”


If I find Him, if I follow,
What my portion here?
“Many a sorrow, many a labor,
Many a tear.”


If I still hold closely to Him,
What hath He at last?
“Sorrow vanquished, labor ended,
Jordan past.”


If I ask Him to receive me,
Will he say to me nay?
“Not till earth and not till heave
Pass away.”


Finding, following, keeping, struggling,
Is He sure to bless?
“Saints, apostles, prophets, martyrs,
Answer, Yes.” Amen.

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