 | Songs and Poems from 1819 to 1879 |  |
74
WEARY.
I'm weary—not of living, but of life,
Which makes continued burdens for itself,
And curdles milk to blood—turns peace to strife,
And like a wicked, witch-born, changeling elf,
Repays kind Nature that has been its nurse
By proving her tormentor and her curse.
Which makes continued burdens for itself,
And curdles milk to blood—turns peace to strife,
And like a wicked, witch-born, changeling elf,
Repays kind Nature that has been its nurse
By proving her tormentor and her curse.
I'm weary—not of living, but of life;
For I have found living for others sweet;
And this fair world is with rich blessings rife,
But man perversely will its gifts maltreat,
And seek for pleasure only in such joy
As tends to madden, poison, and destroy.
For I have found living for others sweet;
And this fair world is with rich blessings rife,
But man perversely will its gifts maltreat,
And seek for pleasure only in such joy
As tends to madden, poison, and destroy.
I'm weary then of life, but not of living;
And when the work is done I had to do,
Gratefully back to Him who gave it giving,
Without regret I'll bid to it adieu—
In humble hope to live the throne before
Of Him who is “The Life” for evermore.
And when the work is done I had to do,
Gratefully back to Him who gave it giving,
Without regret I'll bid to it adieu—
In humble hope to live the throne before
Of Him who is “The Life” for evermore.
| Songs and Poems from 1819 to 1879 | |