One Hundred Holy Songs, Carols, and Sacred Ballads Original, and suitable for music [by Jean Ingelow] |
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[When I lie waking, my heart nigh to breaking] |
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 | One Hundred Holy Songs, Carols, and Sacred Ballads |  |
40
[When I lie waking, my heart nigh to breaking]
“And He carried me away in the spirit to a great and
high mountain, and showed me that great city, the holy
Jerusalem.”
When I lie waking, my heart nigh to breaking,
When all things are dark and cold;
When my bread faileth, and fear assaileth
Me, a sinner grown sick, grown old;
When no man careth how with me it fareth,
For no soul doth count me dear;
Poor, hungry, sighing, a life most like dying,
And no nest in any tree here;
I think on that dwelling all sweet homes excelling,
And long there entrance to win.
O fair, fair city! Christ, for Thy pity,
Call this poor exile in.
When all things are dark and cold;
When my bread faileth, and fear assaileth
Me, a sinner grown sick, grown old;
When no man careth how with me it fareth,
For no soul doth count me dear;
Poor, hungry, sighing, a life most like dying,
And no nest in any tree here;
I think on that dwelling all sweet homes excelling,
And long there entrance to win.
O fair, fair city! Christ, for Thy pity,
Call this poor exile in.
There is no earning with sore work nor learning,
A welcome its peace to share;
My God, so be it. I should never see it,
If the cost were my cost to bear;
My misery showeth, and well Thy heart knoweth
Nought have I wherewith to pay:
Nought; and no merit, who would fain inherit
That city more fair than the day,
Where no want fretteth, where the soul forgetteth,
Fed with manna, the bitter bread of sin.
O most fair city! Christ, for Thy pity,
Call this poor exile in.
A welcome its peace to share;
My God, so be it. I should never see it,
If the cost were my cost to bear;
My misery showeth, and well Thy heart knoweth
Nought have I wherewith to pay:
Nought; and no merit, who would fain inherit
That city more fair than the day,
Where no want fretteth, where the soul forgetteth,
Fed with manna, the bitter bread of sin.
O most fair city! Christ, for Thy pity,
Call this poor exile in.
41
O most sweet gladness, slipt away from sadness
To rest in the long release,
Pluck leaves of healing, and, safe with God's sealing,
Under the palm-trees have peace.
Hear blameless angels sing their sweet evangels;
Behold kneeling saints in the way
Where, unreprovèd, for one well-belovèd,
They wait in the cool of the day.
O most fair dwelling, all sweet homes excelling,
Thy beauty fain would I win.
O most dear city! Christ, for Thy pity,
Call this poor exile in.
To rest in the long release,
Pluck leaves of healing, and, safe with God's sealing,
Under the palm-trees have peace.
Hear blameless angels sing their sweet evangels;
Behold kneeling saints in the way
Where, unreprovèd, for one well-belovèd,
They wait in the cool of the day.
O most fair dwelling, all sweet homes excelling,
Thy beauty fain would I win.
O most dear city! Christ, for Thy pity,
Call this poor exile in.
| One Hundred Holy Songs, Carols, and Sacred Ballads | |