5 My heart is weary of its own deep sin—
Sinning, repenting, sinning still again;
When shall my soul thy glorious presence feel,
And find, dear Saviour, it is free from stain?
6 Patience, poor soul! the Saviour’s feet were worn;
The Saviour’s heart and hands were weary too;
His garments stained, and travel-worn, and old;
His vision blinded with a pitying dew.
7 Love thou the path of sorrow that he trod;
Toil on, and wait in patience for thy rest: