1 The year begins with Thee,
And Thou begin'st with woe,
To let the world of sinners see
That blood for sin must flow.

2 Am I a child of tears,
Cradled in care and woe?
And seems it hard my vernal years
Few vernal joys can show?

3 I look, and hold my peace:
The Giver of all good
Even from the womb takes no release
From suffering, tears, and blood.

4 That I may reap in love,
Help me to sow in fear:
So life a winter's morn may prove
To a bright endless year.