WEARY and weak, — accept my weariness ;
Weary and weak and downcast in my soul,
With hope growing less and less,
And with the goal
Distant and dim, — accept my sore distress.
I thought to reach the goal so long ago,
At outset of the race I dreamed of rest,
Not knowing what now I know
Of breathless haste,
Of long-drawn straining effort across the waste.
One only thing I knew, Thy love of me ;
One only thing I know, Thy sacred same
Love of me full and free,
A craving flame
Of selfless love of me which bums in Thee.
How can I think of thee, and yet grow chill ;
Of Thee, and yet grow cold and nigh to death?
Re-energize my will,
Rebuild my faith;
I will arise and run, Thou giving me breath.