 | Song in September |  |
176
WEARY HEART AND WEARY HEAD
To Weary Heart cried weary Head,
‘Sweeter the day if I were dead,
For I have called farewell to Christ,
And every joy is over-priced:
Each precious and inspiring friend
Already knows the graveyard end,
And round me bitterness is shed,’
To Weary Heart cried Weary Head.
‘Sweeter the day if I were dead,
For I have called farewell to Christ,
And every joy is over-priced:
Each precious and inspiring friend
Already knows the graveyard end,
And round me bitterness is shed,’
To Weary Heart cried Weary Head.
To Weary Head cried Weary Heart,
‘He made the balm who made the smart.
Though sundered ever from the breast
Where throbs my lilied chance of rest,
And though I languish every day
That Agony shall have her play,
Handlocked with Hope I bear my part,’
To Weary Head cried Weary Heart.
‘He made the balm who made the smart.
Though sundered ever from the breast
Where throbs my lilied chance of rest,
And though I languish every day
That Agony shall have her play,
Handlocked with Hope I bear my part,’
To Weary Head cried Weary Heart.
| Song in September | |