I Think I Might Be Weary Of This Day That Comes Inevitably Every Year, The Same When I Was Young And Strong And Gay, The Same When I Am Old And Growing Sere-- I Should Grow Weary Of It Every Year But That Thou Comest To Me Every Day. I Shall Grow Weary If Thou Every Day But Come To Me, Lord Of Eternal Life; I Shall Grow Weary Thus To Watch And Pray, For Ever Out Of Labour Into Strife; Take Everlasting House With Me, My Life, And I Shall Be New-Born This Christmas-Day. Thou Art The Eternal Son, And Born No Day, But Ever He The Father, Thou The Son; I Am His Child, But Being Born Alway-- How Long, O Lord, How Long Till It Be Done? Be Thou From Endless Years To Years The Son-- And I Thy Brother, New-Born Every Day.