O Love di­vine, that stooped to share
Our sharp­est pang, our bit­ter­est tear,
On Thee we cast each earth-born care;
We smile at pain while Thou art near!

Though long the wea­ry way we tread,
And sor­row crown each lin­ger­ing year,
No path we shun, no dark­ness dread,
Our hearts still whis­per­ing, Thou art near!

When droop­ing plea­sure turns to grief,
And trem­bling faith is changed to fear,
The mur­mur­ing wind, the quiv­er­ing leaf,
Shall soft­ly tell us, Thou art near!

On Thee we fling our bur­den­ing woe,
O Love di­vine, for­ev­er dear!
Content to suf­fer while we know,
Living and dy­ing, Thou art near!