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;

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.