1 So fades the lovely blooming flow’r, Frail, smiling solace of an hour; So soon our transient comforts fly, And pleasure only blooms to die. 2 Is there no kind, no healing art, To soothe the anguish of the heart? Spirit of grace, be ever nigh; Thy comforts are not made to die. 3 Let gentle patience smile on pain, Till dying hope revives again, Hope wipes the tear from sorrow’s eye, And faith points upward to the sky.
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| First Line: | So fades the lovely blooming flow'r |
| Publication Date: | 1960 |
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| Name: | DISTRESS |