O Comfort to the Dreary

O com­fort to the drea­ry!

O joy to the op­pressed!

Come un­to Me

ye wea­ry

And I will give you rest.

O come in all your weak­ness!

Ye sons of guilt and woe;

And learn of Him with meek­ness

Who stooped for us so low.

Ye slaves of ser­vile er­ror

Wearied with fruit­less pains

Whose faith is doubt and ter­ror

Believe

and lose your chains.

Renounce the su­per­sti­tion

To Christ’s light yoke pre­ferred;

And turn from vain tra­di­tion

To His re­deem­ing word.

Ye who the world have court­ed

And suf­fered from its spite;

Ye who with sin have sport­ed

And felt its ser­pent-bite;

Come

learn

your fol­lies quit­ting

That this world’s gain is loss;

To His mild rule sub­mit­ting

Who bore for you the cross.

O come

and make the tri­al!

His serv­ice is re­lease;

If hard the self-de­ni­al

Its fruit is joy and peace.

His grace

your souls de­fend­ing

Shall nerve you for the strife:

Peace all your steps at­tend­ing;

The prize

im­mort­al life.