Jesus, My Sorrow Lies Too Deep

Jesus

my sor­row lies too deep

For hu­man min­is­try;

It knows not how to tell it­self

To any but to Thee.

Thou dost re­mem­ber still

amid

The glo­ries of God’s throne

The sor­rows of mor­tal­ity

For they were once Thine own.

Yes: for

as if Thou wouldst be God

Even in Thy mi­se­ry

There’s been no sor­row but Thine own

Untouched by sym­pa­thy.

Jesus

my faint­ing spir­it brings

Its fear­ful­ness to Thee;

Thine eye

at least

can pe­ne­trate

The cloud­ed mys­te­ry.

And is it not

O Lord

enough

This ho­ly sym­pa­thy?

There is no sor­row e’er so deep

But I may bring to Thee.

It is enough

my pre­cious Lord

Thy ten­der sym­pa­thy!

My ev­ery sin and sor­row can

Devolve it­self on Thee.

As God

Thou graspedst e’en the whole

Of hu­man mi­se­ry;

Thine own alone lay de­so­late

That Thou might pi­tied be.

Thy ris­en life but fits Thee more

For kind­ly sym­pa­thy;

Thy love un­hin­dered rests up­on

Each bruis­èd branch in Thee.

Jesus! Thou hast av­ailed to search

My deep­est ma­la­dy;

It free­ly flows—more free­ly finds

The gra­cious re­me­dy.