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Poem	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.
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