Worthy art Thou,
O Lord, of praise,
But ah!
It's not in me.
My sinking heart I pray Thee raise So shall I give it Thee.
My life as spider's webb's cut off,
Thus fainting have I said,
And living man no more shall see But be in silence laid.
My feeble spirit Thou didst revive,
My doubting Thou didst chide,
And though as dead mad'st me alive,
I here a while might 'bide.
Why should I live but to Thy praise?
My life is hid with Thee.
O Lord, no longer be my days Than I may fruitful be.
