Thou know­est, Lord, the wea­ri­ness and sor­row
Of the sad heart that comes to Thee for rest;
Cares of today, and bur­dens for to­mor­row,
Blessings im­plored, and sins to be con­fessed;
I come be­fore Thee at Thy gra­cious word,
And lay them at Thy feet: Thou know­est, Lord.

Thou know­est all the pre­sent: each temp­ta­tion,
Each toil­some du­ty, each fore­bod­ing fear;
All to my­self as­signed of tri­bu­la­tion,
Or to be­lov­èd ones than self more dear;
All pen­sive me­mo­ries, as I jour­ney on,
Longings for van­ished smiles and voic­es gone.

Thou know­est all the fu­ture: gleams of glad­ness
By stor­my clouds too quick­ly ov­er­cast;
Hours of sweet fel­low­ship, and part­ing sad­ness,
And the dark ri­ver to be crossed at last;
O what could con­fi­dence and hope af­ford
To tread that path, but this, Thou know­est, Lord!

Thou know­est, not alone as God, all know­ing;
As man, our mor­tal weak­ness Thou has proved:
On earth, with pur­est sym­pa­thies o’er­flow­ing,
O Sav­ior, Thou hast wept, and Thou hast loved;
And love and sor­row still to Thee may come,
And find a hid­ing place, a rest, a home.

Therefore I come, Thy gen­tle call ob­ey­ing,
And lay my sins and sor­rows at Thy feet;
On ev­er­lasting strength my weak­ness stay­ing,
Clothed in Thy robe of right­eous­ness com­plete:
Then ris­ing and re­freshed I leave Thy throne,
And fol­low on to know as I am known.