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C. M.



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.

The hours of pain have yielded good

Which prosperous days refused;

As herbs, though scentless when entire,

Spread fragrance when they’re bruised.

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.

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.

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