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 Thine infant cries, O Lord,
Thy tears upon the breast
Are not enough, the legal sword
Must do its stern behest.

3 Seemeth it strange to me
My own will to deny?
Seemeth it sad, my soul, to Thee
Under the yoke to lie?

4 I look, and hold my peace:
The Giver of all good
E'en from His birth takes no release
From suffering, tears, and blood.

5 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.