ART THOU WEARY

By: Saint Stephen the Sabaite

(Translated by: John M Neale in 1862)

Art thou weary art thou troubled?  Art thou sore distressed?

“Come to Me,” saith One, “and, coming, be at rest.”

Hath He marks to lead me to Him if He be my Guide?

“In His feet and hands are wound-prints, and His side.”

Hath He diadem, as a Monarch that His brow adorns?

“Yea, a crown, in very surety, but of thorns.”

If I find Him, if I follow, what His guerdon here?

“Many a sorrow, many a labor, many a tear.”

Is this all He hath to give me in my life below?

“Joy unspeakable and glorious thou shalt know.

All thy sins shall be forgive, all things work for good;

Thou shalt Bread of Life from heaven have for food.

From the fountains of salvation thou shalt water draw;

Sweet shall be thy meditation - in God’s Law.”

If I still hold closely to Him, what hath He at last?

“Sorrow vanquished, labor ended, Jordan passed.

Festal palms and crown of glory, robes in blood washed white,

God in Christ His people’s temple, where there is no light."

If I ask Him to receive me, will He say me nay?

“Not till earth and not till heaven pass away.”

Finding, following, keeping, struggling, is He sure to bless?

“Saints, apostles, prophets, martyrs, all answer: Yes!”