In trouble and in grief, O God,

Thy smile hath cheered my way;

And joy hath budded from each thorn

That round my footsteps lay.

2 The hours of pain have yielded good

Which prosperous days refused;

As herbs, though scentless when entire,

Spread fragrance when they’re bruised.

3 The oak strikes deeper as its boughs

By furious blasts are driven;

So life’s tempestuous storms the more

Have fixed my heart in heaven.

4 All-gracious Lord, whate’er my lot

In other times may be,

I’ll welcome still the heaviest grief

That brings me near to thee.