A weak and weary dove, with drooping wing,

And tired of wandering o’er this watery waste,

Jesus, my ark! once more a worthless thing,

To thee I fly, thy pardoning love to taste.

2 For since I left thy sweet, secure retreat,

In search of pleasures fair, though false and vain,

My peace—my joy have flown; no rest my feet

Have found; and now I turn to thee again!

3 I’ve sought for rest in friendship’s hallowed shrine,

But loved ones change, and earth’s endearments end;

No love is true and lasting, Lord, but thine;

Henceforth, Incarnate Love, be thou my friend.

4 I’ve sought to find a place to rest my feet

In fame’s alluring temple, bright and gay;

In health, and competence, and pleasures sweet,

But short and transient as the passing day.

5 Yet all in vain: o’er all this dreary waste

Of sin and sorrow, toil and care, and pain,

No spot I’ve found, my weary feet to rest;

And now, sweet ark, I fly to thee again.