My feet are worn and weary with the march

O’er the rough road and up the steep hill-side;

O city of our God! I fain would see

Thy pastures green, where peaceful waters glide.

2 My hands are worn and weary, toiling on,

Day after day, for perishable meat;

O city of our God! I fain would rest—

I sigh to gain thy glorious mercy-seat.

3 My garments, travel-worn and stained with dust,

Oft rent by briers and thorns that crowd my way,

Would fain be made, O Lord, my righteousness!

Spotless and white in heaven’s unclouded ray.

4 My eyes are weary looking at the sin,

Impiety, and scorn upon the earth;

O city of our God! within thy walls

All—all are clothed again with thy new birth.

5 My heart is weary of its own deep sin—

Sinning, repenting, sinning still again;

When shall my soul thy glorious presence feel,

And find, dear Saviour, it is free from stain?

6 Patience, poor soul! the Saviour’s feet were worn;

The Saviour’s heart and hands were weary too;

His garments stained, and travel-worn, and old;

His vision blinded with a pitying dew.

7 Love thou the path of sorrow that he trod;

Toil on, and wait in patience for thy rest:

O city of our God! we soon shall see

Thy glorious walls—home of the loved and blest.