Weary Of Earth And Laden With My Sin
Weary of earth, and laden with my sin,
I look at heav’n and long to enter in;
but there no evil thing may find a home;
and yet I hear a voice that bids me “Come.”
So vile I am, how dare I hope to stand
in the pure glory of that holy land?
Before the whiteness of that throne appear?
Yet there are hands stretched out to draw me near.
The while I fain would tread the heav’nly way,
evil is ever with me day by day;
yet on my ears the gracious tidings fall,
“Repent, confess, thou shalt be loosed from all.”
It is the voice of Jesus that I hear;
his are the hands stretched out to draw me near,
and his the blood that can for all atone
and set me faultless there before the throne.
O great Absolver, grant my soul may wear
the lowliest garb of penitence and pray’r,
that in the Father’s courts my glorious dress
may be the garment of thy righteousness.
Yea, thou wilt answer for me, righteous Lord;
thine all the merits, mine the great reward;
thine the sharp thorns, and mine the golden crown;
mine the life won, and thine the life laid down.