 | The forest minstrel |  |
COME UNTO ME!
“Come unto me, all ye who labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”
Matthew xi. 28.
“Come to me!” the Saviour cried,
Thou with toil and care oppressed;
Come, ye heavy laden ones,
And I will give you rest.
Weary mortal, worn with pain,
Bending 'neath the load of wo,
Sweet and lasting is the rest
That Jesus will bestow.
Thou with toil and care oppressed;
Come, ye heavy laden ones,
And I will give you rest.
Weary mortal, worn with pain,
Bending 'neath the load of wo,
Sweet and lasting is the rest
That Jesus will bestow.
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Child of meagre poverty,
Toiling for thy daily bread,
Many a bitter heart-wrung tear
It has been thine to shed;
Cold and weary is thy lot,
By want, and care, and scorn oppressed,
Bring thy burden to the Lord,
And He will give thee rest.
Toiling for thy daily bread,
Many a bitter heart-wrung tear
It has been thine to shed;
Cold and weary is thy lot,
By want, and care, and scorn oppressed,
Bring thy burden to the Lord,
And He will give thee rest.
Mourner! with the broken heart,
Sobbing o'er the sable bier,
Lies thy loved and loving one
In death's cold ruin here?
Kneel and pray; there is a balm
Of power to soothe and heal thy breast;
Jesus died—and rose again,
And He will give thee rest.
Sobbing o'er the sable bier,
Lies thy loved and loving one
In death's cold ruin here?
Kneel and pray; there is a balm
Of power to soothe and heal thy breast;
Jesus died—and rose again,
And He will give thee rest.
Weary exile! all alone,
Wandering in life's toilsome way,
Has this world of love and joy
No home, no hope for thee?
Jesus, once a wanderer,
Hath marked a path to mansions blessed;
Follow meekly with thy cross
And He will give thee rest.
Wandering in life's toilsome way,
Has this world of love and joy
No home, no hope for thee?
Jesus, once a wanderer,
Hath marked a path to mansions blessed;
Follow meekly with thy cross
And He will give thee rest.
Rich man! art thou weary too
Of fashion, pomp, and wakeful care?
Hast thou learned that pride is pain,
And gold a shining snare?
Make the wealth that burdens thee
Blessing to the poor, distressed;
Jesus then will smile, and give
His faithful steward rest.
Of fashion, pomp, and wakeful care?
Hast thou learned that pride is pain,
And gold a shining snare?
Make the wealth that burdens thee
Blessing to the poor, distressed;
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His faithful steward rest.
Humble sinner! kneeling low,
Who dar'st not lift thine eyes to heaven,
Though thy wickedness be great,
It may be all forgiven;
Do not suffer dark Despair
To wind her chain about thy breast,
Jesus is the sinner's friend,
And He will give thee rest.
Who dar'st not lift thine eyes to heaven,
Though thy wickedness be great,
It may be all forgiven;
Do not suffer dark Despair
To wind her chain about thy breast,
Jesus is the sinner's friend,
And He will give thee rest.
Christian! with the death-damp brow,
Fitful pulse, and sobbing breath,
Struggling with the piercing pangs,
And bitterer fears of death;
Now, in thine extremest need,
Oh, sweet the invitation blessed,
Come, oh weary one, to me,
In Everlasting Rest!
Fitful pulse, and sobbing breath,
Struggling with the piercing pangs,
And bitterer fears of death;
Now, in thine extremest need,
Oh, sweet the invitation blessed,
Come, oh weary one, to me,
In Everlasting Rest!
| The forest minstrel | |