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.
The hours of pain have yielded good
Which prosperous days refused;
As herbs, though scentless when entire,
Spread fragrance when they’re bruised.
The oak strikes deeper as its boughs
By furious blasts are driven;
So life’s tempestuous storms the more
Have fixed my heart in heaven.
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.