Bitter, indeed, the waters are. Which in this desert flow; Though to the eye they promise fair, They taste of sin and woe. | Of pleasing draughts I once could dream, But now, awake, l find, That sin has poisoned every stream, And left a curse behind. | But there’s a wonder–working wood, I’ve heard believers say, Can make these bitter waters good, And take the curse away. | The virtues of this healing tree Are known and prized by few; Reveal this secret, Lord, to me, That I may prize it too. | The cross on which the Savior died, And conquered for his saints; 19 This is the tree, by faith applied, Which sweetens all complaints. | Thousands have found the blest effect, Nor longer mourn their lot; While on his sorrows they reflect, Their own are all forgot. | When they, by faith, behold the cross, Though many griefs they meet; They draw again from every loss, And find the bitter sweet. | |