1 O Thou who driest the mourner’s tear,
How dark this world would be,
If, pierced by sins and sorrows here,
We could not fly to Thee!
2 But Thou wilt heal that broken heart,
Which, like the plants that throw
Their fragrance from the wounded part,
Breathes sweetness out of woe.
3 When joy no longer soothes or cheers,
And even the hope that threw
A moment’s sparkle o’er our tears,
Is dimmed and vanished too,—
4 Oh who could bear life’s stormy doom,
Did not Thy wing of love
Come brightly wafting through the gloom
Our peace-branch from above?
5 Then sorrow, touched by Thee, grows bright,
With more than rapture’s ray;
As darkness shows us worlds of light
We never saw by day.
Text Information | |
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First Line: | O Thou who driest the mourner's tear |
Meter: | C. M. |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1867 |
Topic: | Man a Saint: In Bodily and Spiritual Trouble |