I am weary of straying; O fain would I rest,

In that far distant land of the pure and the blest;

Where sin can no longer her blandishment spread,

And tears and temptations for ever are fled.

2 I am weary of hoping, where hope is untrue,

As fair but as fleeting, as morning’s bright dew;

I long for the land whose blest promise alone

Is as changeless and sure as eternity’s throne.

3 I am weary of sighing o’er sorrows of earth,

O’er joy’s glowing visions, that fade at their birth,

O’er pangs of the loved, which we can not assuage,

O’er the blightings of youth, and the weakness of age.

4 I am weary of loving what passes away—

The sweetest and dearest, alas, may not stay!

I long for that land where those partings are o’er,

And death and the tomb can divide hearts no more.

5 I am weary, my Saviour, of grieving thy love;

O! when shall I rest in thy presence above;

I am weary—but O! let me never repine,

While thy word, and thy love, and thy promise are mine.