O Thou who dri'st the mourner's tear, How dark this world would be, If pierced by sins and sorrows 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 and cheers, And e'en the hope that threw A moments 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.