SORROW HEALED.

Is thy sorrow very great ?

Wait, were mortal words to thee!

 Wait on God, poor
mourner, wait;

Thy sole comforter is He.

‘Tis the Maker of the heart,

‘Tis the sender of the
grief,

Can alone the balm impart

That shall yield thee sweet
relief.

Tell to man thy bitter woes
;

Thence may spring yet worse
to beat;

Tell them unto God, who
knows;

It may prove prevailing
prayer.

Weak to make the body whole

Of sore hurt is human
skill;

But to heal the stricken
soul,

It for this is weaker
still.

While, so great is God
above,

That, to heal this truth
revealed,

And to trust its words of
love

This alone is to be healed.