1 Not worthy, Lord! to gather up the crumbs
with trembling hand that from thy table fall,
a weary, heavy-laden sinner comes
to plead thy promise and obey thy call.
2 I am not worthy to be thought thy child,
nor sit the last and lowest at thy board;
too long a wand'rer and too oft beguiled,
I only ask one reconciling word.
3 One word from thee, my Lord, one smile, one look,
and I could face the cold, rough world again;
And with that treasure in my heart could brook
the wrath of devils and the scorn of men.
4 I hear thy voice; thou bidd'st me come and rest;
I come, I kneel, I clasp thy pierced feet;
thou bidd'st me take my place, a welcome guest
among thy saints, and of thy banquet eat.
5 My praise can only breathe itself in prayer,
my prayer can only lose itself in thee;
dwell thou forever in my heart, and there,
Lord, let me sup with thee; sup thou with me.
|First Line:||Not worthy, Lord! to gather up the crumbs|
|Title:||Not Worthy, Lord!|
|Author:||Edward H. Bickersteth (1872)|
|Composer:||Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy (1835; arr.)|