Heart-Balm

Tell me about the Master;
I am weary and worn tonight,
The day lies behind me in a shadow,
And only the evening is light!
Light with a radiant glory
That lingers about the west
My poor heart is aweary, aweary
And longs, like a child for rest.


Tell me about the Master!
Of the hills He in loneliness trod.
When the tears and the blood of his anguish Dropped down on Judea̓s sod.
For to me life̓s seventy milestones
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 terror that stalks in the noonday,
Of the falsehood and malice and strife.

Yet I know that, whatever of sorrow
Or pain or temptation befall,
The Infinite Master has 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 was bruised and broken,
Shall grow patient and strong and calm,