"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? "The friends who in our sunshine live, When winter comes are flown, And he who has but tears to give, Must weep those tears alone. "But Thou wilt heal the broken heart, Which, like the plants that throw Their fragrance from the wounded part, Breathes sweetness out of woe."
