thanks 4 the lyrics, looking for rev james cleveland's "i dont feel no ways tired,"can u help me?
thanks

sorry, judy, i don't have the lyrics. if you find them, please post them here, though!

I weak and i'm tired thank God for his hand

Hi all; I'm looking for a music score for Precious Lord, Take my Hand for my uncle's funeral. Can anyone help?

this is a great song.they sung it at my grandma's funeral.perfect for the curcumstances

Does anyone know the lyrics or the artist?

From cyberhymnal:

Quote:

Words: Thom­as A. Dor­sey, 1932. Dor­sey wrote this song in Chi­ca­go, Il­li­nois, af­ter his wife Net­tie died while giv­ing birth to a child (who al­so died short­ly there­af­ter). Dor­sey sang the song for his friend, Gos­pel sing­er The­o­dore Frye, and Frye's choir sang it the next Sun­day at the Eb­e­nez­er Bap­tist Church.

This song is traveling thru the e-mails and saying it was written by Tommy Dorsey. People think it is the 1940's band leader but I read that he was the son of a black minister. Who is correct?

The story of how "Precious Lord" ws written but it is saying that it was Tommy Dorsey, the famous band leader of the 1940's. I read that he was the son of a black minister. Who is correct

THE BIRTH OF THE SONG 'PRECIOUS LORD'...please read on...

Back in 1932, I was 32 years old and a fairly new husband. My wife, Nettie and I were living in a little apartment on Chicago 'S south side. One hot August afternoon I had to go to St. Louis, where I was to be the featured soloist at a large revival meeting. I didn't want to go.

Nettie was in the last month of pregnancy with our first child. But a lot of people were expecting me in St. Louis. I kissed Nettie good-bye, clattered downstairs to our Model A and, in a fresh Lake Michigan breeze, chugged out of Chicago on Route 66.

However, outside the city, I discovered that in my anxiety at leaving, I had forgotten my music case. I wheeled around and headed back.

I found Nettie sleeping peace-fully. I hesitated by her bed; something was strongly telling me to stay. But eager to get on my way, and not wanting to disturb Nettie, I shrugged off the feeling and quietly slipped out of the room with my music case. The next night, in the steaming St. Louis heat, the crowd called on me to sing again and again.

When I finally sat down, a messenger boy ran up with a Western Union telegram.

I ripped open the envelope. Pasted on the yellow sheet were the words: YOUR WIFE JUST DIED.

People were happily singing and clapping around me, but I could hardly keep from crying out. I rushed to a phone and called home. All I could hear on the other end was 'Nettie is dead. Nettie is dead.'

When I got back, I learned that Nettie had given birth to a boy. I swung between grief and joy. Yet that same night, the baby died. I buried Nettie and our little boy together, in the same casket.

Then I fell apart.

For days I closeted myself. I felt that God had done me an injustice. I didn't want to serve Him anymore or write gospel songs. I just wanted to go back to that jazz world I once knew so well. But then, as I hunched alone in that dark apartment those first sad days, I thought back to the afternoon I went to St. Louis.

Something kept telling me to stay with Nettie.

Was that something God? Oh, if I had paid more attention to Him that day, I would have stayed and been with Nettie when she died.

From that moment on I vowed to listen more closely to Him. But still I was lost in grief. Everyone was kind to me, especially a friend, Professor Fry, who seemed to know what I needed.

On the following Saturday evening he took me up to Malone's Poro College, a neighborhood music school.

It was quiet; the late evening sun crept through the curtained windows. I sat down at the piano, and my hands began to browse over the keys. Something happened to me then. I felt at peace.

I felt as though I could reach out and touch God. I found myself playing a melody, once into my head they just seemed to fall into place:

'Precious Lord, take my hand, lead me on, let me stand!
I am tired, I am weak, I am worn,
Through the storm, through the night, lead me on, to the light,
Take my hand, precious Lord, lead me home.'

The Lord gave me these words and melody, He also healed my spirit. I learned that when we are in our deepest grief, when we feel farthest from God, this is when He is closest, and when we are most open to His restoring power. And so I go on living for God willingly and joyfully, until that day comes when He will take me and gently lead me home.

-Tommy Dorsey

Did you know that Tommy Dorsey wrote this song? I surely didn't. What a wonderful story of how God can heal the brokenhearted! Beautiful, isn't it? Worth the reading wasn't it? Think on the message for a while.

Thought you might like to share this, I just did.

[color=purple]hey[/color]

http://www.snopes.com/music/songs/precious.asp

Not Tommy Dorsey, Big Band, but Tommy Dorsey, Gospel singer.