The Bitter Waters

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

I 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

Tho’ many griefs they meet;

They draw again from ev­ery loss

And find the bit­ter sweet.