My heart and soul are all to tired to tell;
So weary, Lord,
Of this long, ceaseless work of doing well,
Oh, I have been thy servant now for years,
Nor made complaint,
Though my life cup has been abrim with tears,
But now I faint.
And I have worked for thee, with all my strength,
In pain and woe.
My Master, canst thou chide me, if at length
I ask to go?
Oh, if the soul is purified by fire,
Then I am blest.
The laborer is worthy of his hire---
Lord, give me rest.
I know that I have sinned in many ways---
A sinner made.
But I have tried to serve thee all my days---
I'm not afraid.
I know full well my record is not clear,
Nor white as snow;
But better meet it than to linger here.
Lord, let me go.
Shells by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Milwaukee: Hauser & Storey, 1873.
|Back to Poem Index|