Volume 8 — De Profundis.
Reading edition
O weary, weary heart, O fainting soul! Thy struggle is in vain; The fiery waves of woe that o'er thee roll O'erwhelm with fiercest pain. There is for thee no rest, for thee no peace Till thought and mem'ry, life itself shall cease. "Rest for the weary"—words that flatteringly Promise thy heart relief; The words of peace are meaningless to thee, They mock thy endless grief. Think not thy soul from further woe to save, Seek not for rest, or seek it in the grave! —— Sweet rest, sweet peace. O Jesu! thou canst give E'en in my mortal woe; Thou bidst my struggling, dying soul to live, And lead'st me gently through The waves that dash against my tired feet, To fields of living green and verdure sweet. Jesu! sweet Jesu! in my darkest hour On thee alone I call; Though waves may dash and dark'ning skies may lower, And raging storms appall, I heed them not—I look beyond, above, And find my refuge in thy Heart of Love! K. A.
From La Semaine Liturgique De Poitiers.