And the smile of the Lord is the feast of the soul!
Muhlenberg.
837
11s.
I am weary.
I am weary of straying; O fain would I rest,
In that far distant land of the pure and the blest;
Where sin can no longer her blandishment spread,
And tears and temptations for ever are fled.
2 I am weary of hoping, where hope is untrue,