Wash Thou My Feet

UNA ROSAMOND LIAS

WASH thou my feet, dear Lord, for now it seems
That every step with mire of discontent,
Self-love, self-pity, and discouragement
Drags heavily; but thou dost lead where streams
Of cleansing waters flow that can remove
All stain or trace of mire with purifying love.

Wash thou my feet, dear Lord, I toil alone,
Bruised by great boulders of self-will, and torn
By sharp resentment's quickly growing thorn.
But thy pure waters, welling from God's throne,
Dissolve the rocks, uproot each thorny weed,
Heal every deepest wound, and through green pastures lead.

Wash thou my feet, dear Lord, I journey slow,
Stumble and often fall; wearied and weak,
From the life-giving truth new strength I seek,
And resting by the wayside whisper low:
No step so weak but thou canst make it strong,
No cry so tired but thou canst turn it to a song.

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