O Thou who driest the mourner’s tear,

How dark this world would be,

If, when deceived and wounded here,

We could not fly to Thee!

But Thou wilt heal the broken heart,

Which, like the plants that throw

Their fragrance from the wounded part,

Breathes sweetness out of woe.

When joy no longer soothes or cheers,

And e’en the hope that threw

A moment’s sparkle o’er our tears

Is dimmed and vanished too;

O, who would bear life’s stormy doom,

Did not Thy wing of love

Come, brightly wafting through the gloom

Our peace-branch from above?

Then sorrow, touched by Thee, grows bright,

With more than rapture’s ray;

The darkness shows us worlds of light

We never saw by day.