The Sweet Old Story

Tell me about the Mas­ter!

I am wea­ry and worn to­night;

The day lies be­hind me in sha­dow

And on­ly the ev­en­ing is light!

Light with a ra­di­ant glo­ry

That lin­gers about the west

My poor heart is awea­ry

awea­ry

And longs like a child for rest.

Tell me about the Mas­ter!

Of the wrongs He for us for­gave;

Of love and of ten­der com­pas­sion

Of love

that was migh­ty to save;

Sad is my heart

and so wea­ry

Of woes and the tri­als of life

Of the wrongs that are stalk­ing in noon­day

Of false­hood

and sin

and strife.

Yet what I know of sor­row

And temp­ta­tions that oft be­fall

The in­fi­nite Mas­ter had suf­fered

And know­eth and pi­ti­eth all.

Tell me the sweet­est old sto­ry

That falls on each wound like balm

And my heart that was bruis­èd and brok­en

Shall grow well

and strong

and calm.