How sweet in every trying scene,
That wounds the spirit here,
To feel that Jesus bore our grief,
And know He still is near;
O ye who o’er the couch of death
Your lonely watch have kept,
Tho’ anguish rend your aching breast,
Remember Jesus wept.
He groaned in spirit while He spoke:
Where have you laid the dead?
Lord, come and see, they murmured low,
He followed where they led;
Beneath a cold sepulchral stone
An only brother slept,
And angels wondered as they gazed,
For lo! the Savior wept.
How oft the prayer our lips would breathe
The heart alone may speak;
How oft the penitential tear
Bedews the mourner’s cheek:
Poor child of toil, though dark and sad,
Thy weary lot may be,
With few to smooth life’s rugged path,
Thy Savior wept for thee.