Was speaking on the earth—thus said the Lord,
"Now come to me, ye that are heavy laden,
And I will give you rest"—and, lo, I came
Sorrowing,—and the broken contrite heart,
Lord, thou didst not despise. Now let me weep
Tears, and my dying Saviour's precious blood
Will wash away my sin. Now let me pray
In thankfulness that time is given for prayer;
In hope that, offer'd in my Saviour's name,
I may find favour in the sight of God.
Where is my former weariness of life,
Where is my former terror of the grave?
Out of my penitence there has grown hope;
I trust, and raise my suppliant eyes to heaven;
And, when my soul desponds, I meekly say,
"I know that my Redeemer liveth."
HYMN OF THE MAGDALEN.
There was a time, when I but sought
In life its pleasant things;
And ask'd each moment what it brought
Of pleasure on its wings.
I bound red roses in my hair,
And when they died away,
I only thought, fresh flowers there are
As beautiful as they.
