And thankfully,
Father, thy weary child
Has come to thee.
I lean my aching head
Upon thy breast,
And there, and only there,
I am at rest.
Thou knowest all my life,
Each petty sin,
Nothing is hid from thee
And thankfully,
Father, thy weary child
Has come to thee.
I lean my aching head
Upon thy breast,
And there, and only there,
I am at rest.
Thou knowest all my life,
Each petty sin,
Nothing is hid from thee