"Blessed are they that Mourn. " |
630. C. M. Anonymous. "Blessed are they that mourn." 1 In trouble and in grief, O God, Thy smile hath cheered my way; And joy hath budded from each thorn That round my footsteps lay. 2 The hours of pain have yielded good, Which prosperous days refused; As herbs, though scentless when entire, Spread fragrance when they're bruised. 3 The oak strikes deeper as its boughs By furious blasts are driven; So life's vicissitudes the more Have fixed my heart in heaven. 4 All-gracious Lord! whate'er my lot In other times may be, I'll welcome still the heaviest grief, That brings me near to thee.
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