Come to me, Lord: I will not speculate how, Nor think at which door I would have thee appear, Nor put off calling till my floors be swept, But cry, "Come, Lord, come any way, come now." [Doors, windows, I throw wide; my head I bow, And sit like some one who so long has slept That he knows nothing till his life draw near.]1
Come to me, Lord
Set by M. Ryan Taylor (b. 1972), "Come to me, Lord", 2003 [ voice and piano ], from Leafs from the Diary of an Old Soul, no. 2  [sung text not yet checked]
Note: this setting is made up of several separate texts.
Authorship:
- by George MacDonald (1824 - 1905), no title, appears in A Book of Strife in the Form of The Diary of an Old Soul, Entry for January Thirtieth, first published 1880
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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
Thou wilt interpret life to me, and men, art, nature, [yea]1 my own soul's mysteries; bringing truth out, clear joyous to my ken, Fair as the morn trampling the dull night. Then the lone hillside shall hear exultant cries; The joyous see me joy, the weeping weep; The watching smile, as Death breathes on me his cold sleep.
Authorship:
- by George MacDonald (1824 - 1905), no title, appears in A Book of Strife in the Form of The Diary of an Old Soul, Entry for February 8, first published 1880
Go to the single-text view
View original text (without footnotes)1 omitted by Taylor.
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]