Though Faint And Sick And Worn Away

Though faint and sick, and worn away
With poverty and woe,
My widowed feet are doomed to stray
‘Mid thorny paths below.

Be thou, O Lord, my Father still,
My confidence and guide:
I know that perfect is thy will,
Whate’er that will decide.

I know the soul that trusts in thee
Thou never wilt forsake;
And though a bruised reed I be,
That reed thou wilt not break.

Then keep me, Lord, where’er I go,
Support me on my way,
Though, worn with poverty and woe,
My widowed footsteps stray.

To give my weakness strength, O God,
Thy staff shall yet avail;
And though thou chasten with thy rod,
That staff shall never fail.