O Thou Who Driest the Mourner’s Tear

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 that 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 could 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;

As dark­ness shows us worlds of light

We nev­er saw by day.