The Invitation

In ev'ry hour, in ev'ry need
When hearts grow weary, burdened, grim,
For us Christ died, t'was born to bleed,
That we could know, abide in, him.

Yet oft we turn not to our King
But look to self and to the world
To heal the ache to which we cling,
And we pray not, our hands uncurled.

Our Lord awaits our humble plea
His blessings, mercies, to impart,
And while he calls us, "Come to Me,"
Would we withhold a broken heart?