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 even the hope that threw
A moment's sparkle over 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.

Thomas Moore

The heart knoweth his own bitterness, and a stranger does not intermeddle with his joy.

Proverbs 14:10

Copied from my grandmother’s hymnal, Hymn Book of the Methodist Episcopal Church, South. Publishing House of the M. E. Church, South: Nashville, TN, 1901, Hymn #539.

Note: This hymn is in the public domain. Also, the hymns in this hymnal are not titled. So when I do not know the hymn, I generally use the first line as the title.

Photo taken in Milton, FL, 2021

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