Callest Thou thus, oh Mas­ter?
Callest Thou thus to me?
Weary and heavy la­den,
Longing to come to Thee,
Out in the lonely dark­ness
Thy dear voice sounds so sweet,
I am not worthy, Mas­ter, oh no,
Not worthy to kiss Thy feet.

Comest Thou thus, oh Mas­ter?
Comest Thou thus to me?
Untrimmed, my lamp, and dy­ing,
And house not meet for Thee.
Thou art so great and ho­ly,
I am by sin un­done,
I am not wor­thy, Mas­ter, oh no,
Not wor­thy that Thou shouldst come.

Child, said the gra­cious Mas­ter,
With voice di­vine­ly sweet,
I on­ly ask a wel­come,
Rest for My wea­ry feet!
Come o’er my low­ly thresh­old,
Dark, and de­filed by sin,
Tho’ all un­wor­thy, Mas­ter, oh come,
I pray Thee, come, en­ter in.