Scripture Verse

Come to Me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Matthew 11:28


John M. Neale (1818–1866)


Words: Stephen of Mar Sa­ba (Ju­dea), 8th Cen­tu­ry (Κό­πον τε καὶ κάμα­τον). Trans­lated from Greek to Eng­lish by John M. Neale in Hymns for the East­ern Church, 1862. Neale gave it the unu­su­al ti­tle Id­io­me­la, in the Week of the First Oblique Tone. How­ev­er, Neale lat­er said these lyr­ics con­tained lit­tle of the orig­in­al Greek ver­sion. This hymn was sung in the 1940 mo­vie Our Town, which was nom­in­at­ed for sev­er­al Aca­de­my Awards.

Music: Ste­pha­nos Hen­ry W. Baker, 1868 (🔊 pdf nwc). The tune is named af­ter the hymn’s orig­in­al aut­hor, a ne­phew of John of Da­mas­cus.

Alternate Tunes:

Henry W. Baker (1821–1877)


Some years ago, writes Mr. James A. Wat­son, of Black­burn, Eng­land, I oft­en vis­it­ed one of our adult Sun­day-school schol­ars who had just been brought to the know­ledge of the Sav­iour…She heard a gos­pel of full and free sal­va­tion, em­braced it, and gra­du­al­ly be­came a faith-filled, con­sis­tent Chris­tian. She was laid low with a se­ri­ous ill­ness, but it was al­ways a plea­sure to vis­it her.

On one oc­ca­sion she told me that the ev­en­ing be­fore, when she had been left alone for the night, a cloud came ov­er her spi­rit, the sense of lone­li­ness grew up­on her, and she seemed for­sak­en of God.

All looked black, and she dread­ed the long, lone night. This was a most unu­su­al thing and she won­dered why it should be so.

Just then, in the qui­et night, she heard steps on the flags of the foot-way. A man wear­ing the clogs of the fac­to­ry op­er­at­or was com­ing along, evi­dent­ly re­turn­ing late from some re­li­gious meet­ing. He was full of joy, for be­fore he reached the house where my schol­ar was lay­ing awake, he struck up in a joy­ful and loud song, Art thou wea­ry, art thou lang­uid?

The sing­er, an an­gel in clogs, went on his way, sing­ing aloud out of a full heart; but deep down into the heart of the lone­ly wo­man went the words, Be at rest! Again she cast her­self up­on the Lord; the cloud part­ed, peace and rest filled her heart, and she doubt­ed no more.

Sankey, pp. 129–30


Art thou wea­ry, art thou lan­guid,
Art thou sore dis­tressed?
Come to Me, saith One, and com­ing,
Be at rest.

Hath He marks to lead me to Him,
If He be my guide?
In His feet and hands are wound prints
And His side.

Hath He di­adem, as mon­arch,
That His brow adorns?
Yes, a crown in ve­ry sure­ty,
But of thorns.

If I find Him, if I fol­low,
What His guer­don here?
Many a sor­row, ma­ny a la­bor,
Many a tear.

If I still hold close­ly to Him,
What hath He at last?
Sorrow van­quished, la­bor end­ed,
Jordan passed.

If I ask Him to rec­eive me,
Will He say me nay?
Not till earth and not till Hea­ven
Pass away.

Finding, fol­low­ing, keep­ing, strug­gling,
Is He sure to bless?
Saints, apos­tles, pro­phets, mar­tyrs,
Answer, Yes!