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TELL me about the Master!

I am weary and worn tonight;

The day lies behind me in shadow,

And only the evening is light!

Light with a radiant glory

That lingers about the west.

My poor heart is weary, aweary,

And longs, like a child, for rest.

 

Tell me about the Master!

Of the hills He in loneliness trod,

When the tears and blood of His anguish.

Dropped down on Judea’s sod.

For to me life’s seventy mile-stones

But a sorrowful journey mark;

Rough lies the hill country before me,

The mountains behind me are dark.

 

Tell me about the Master!

Of the wrongs He freely forgave;

Of His love and tender compassion,

Of His love that is mighty to save;

 For my heart is aweary, aweary,

Of the woes and temptations of life,

Of the error that stalks in the noonday,

 Of falsehood and malice and strife.

 

Yet I know that whatever of sorrow

Or pain or temptation befall,

The infinite Master hath suffered,

And knoweth and pitieth all.

 So tell me the sweet old story,

     That falls on each wound like a balm,

         And my heart that is bruised and broken

        Shall grow patient and strong and calm.

 

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