Come, Jesus, come, my soul is weary;
My strength doth dwindle day by day.
Give me thy rest, for I am bleary;
Carry me through the bitter way.
Come, and for thee I’ll trade my strife:
Thou art the way, the truth, the life.
Let me but feel thy hand enclosing
And bid the world a last farewell;
Though life be but a mist in morning,
Yet shall my spirit ever dwell
Where naught but peace can e’er be rife—
With thee, the way, the truth, the life.
—Translated from Paul Thymich (excerpt). To Neumark.
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