Tired by C. M. Willis

The Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Mar 21, 1865

Tired.

By C. M. Willis

DEAR Saviour, the path is so dreary, No shelter the way sides afford, My feet are all bleeding and weary; I long for a view of my Lord: My heart is o'er shadowed with sadness, My harp by no song is inspired, Its strings give no echo of gladness, 'Tis tuneless.—I'm tired, so tired.

The tempter his forces has gathered, And marshaled them all to the fray; Oh when will the gale be out weathered, And sunbeams illumine my way? Blind, blind in the dark do I wander, My feet in the clay pits are mired, His forces do bear my soul under, My strength fails.—I'm tired, so tired.

I sought to this earth for pure pleasures; How lovely they glowed from afar: My heart, how it beat to its measures, And hope was my bright guiding star. But earth gave no pleasures existence, In vain were its splendors admired; They vanished like clouds in the distance, And left me dear Father, so tired.

The friends I so lovingly cherished, Pass coldly, unheedingly by; While some by the way side have perished, Down in the lone valley they lie. For them I neglected my Bible, Their presence was all I desired; God saw, and removed my dear idols, And left my poor spirit, so tired.

Look up! do I hear my God saying? I do! 'tis the blessed One's voice; Look up; from where now thou art straying, I bid thee return and rejoice; Earth's joys are a vain empty bubble, Come lean thy lone head on my breast, The wicked shall here never trouble, And the tired ones ever find rest.

A small moment have I forsaken, And let thee pass under the rod, Thy idols and joys have I taken, To show thee the joys of thy God. Yes Lord, too long I've been straying, Too long earthly pleasures admired, I'll drink where life's fountains are playing, And the weary ones never are tired.

Then suffer, and wait, and grow stronger, Our Lord in the clouds soon will come; With loved ones, then idols no longer, We'll enter that glorious home. Afflictions here round us may center, We'll soon reach the haven desired, Where sickness and death cannot enter, And no one shall say, I am tired.

C. M. WILLIS.

Charlotte, Mich.