So weary from that burden old,
Of sin and custom's ruthless sway,
I fear to trip upon my way,
And fall afoul of my worst foe.
Yet one great Friend delivered me,
With marvelous and peerless grace;
Then so flew past my eyes' embrace,
That watching Him was vain it seemed.
Anew His voice in distant hum:
"O you who work, the path is here;
If none bars passage, to me come."
What destiny, what grace, what love?
Shall let me rest, with wings of dove,
And let me rise from this poor sphere?