Stephen the Sabaite; J M. N., Tr

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 woundprints,

And 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 His guerdon here?

Many a sorrow, many a labour,

Many a tear.


If I still hold closely to Him,

What hath He at last?

Sorrow vanquished, labour ended,

Jordan past.


If I ask Him to receive me,

Will He say me nay?

Not till earth, and not till heaven

Pass away.


Finding, following, keeping, struggling,

Is He sure to bless?

Saints, apostles, prophets, martyrs,

Answer, “Yes!”


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