Prone to droop our faithless mind,
Life before, but death behind:
Sing we as we journey on,
—“Christon Estaurōmenon!”[2]
Friends are few nor can they heal
Sorrows which we deepest feel;
And when needed most forsake:
Unto Jesus we’ll betake,
Breathing oft, while toiling on,
—“Christon Estaurōmenon!”