O’erwhelmed in spirit, faint, oppressed,
’Tis sweet to tell thee, while I kneel
Low at thy feet, thou art my rest.
2 I’m weary of the strife within;
Strong powers against my soul contest;
O, let me turn from self and sin,
To thy dear cross, for there is rest!
3 O! sweet will be the welcome day,
When from her toils and woes released,
My parting soul in death shall say,