950
10s.
Returning.
A weak and weary dove, with drooping wing,
And tired of wandering o’er this watery waste,
Jesus, my ark! once more a worthless thing,
To thee I fly, thy pardoning love to taste.
2 For since I left thy sweet, secure retreat,
In search of pleasures fair, though false and vain,
My peace—my joy have flown; no rest my feet
Have found; and now I turn to thee again!
3 I’ve sought for rest in friendship’s hallowed shrine,
But loved ones change, and earth’s endearments end;
No love is true and lasting, Lord, but thine;
Henceforth, Incarnate Love, be thou my friend.
4 I’ve sought to find a place to rest my feet
In fame’s alluring temple, bright and gay;
In health, and competence, and pleasures sweet,
But short and transient as the passing day.
5 Yet all in vain: o’er all this dreary waste
Of sin and sorrow, toil and care, and pain,
No spot I’ve found, my weary feet to rest;
And now, sweet ark, I fly to thee again.