Be still, O heart, and cease thy sorrowing!
Dost thou not know that God is near?
Dost thou not know His love enfolds thee tenderly?
Oh, dry thy tear!
Why weepest thou before the tomb of earthly joys?
Dost thou not see,
An angel stands
And beckons thee
Come sup with me,
Then will thy weeping cease?
Oh, lift thine eyes and heed this visitant!
Dost thou not catch a heav'n-sent strain
That gently speaks to thee of bliss before unknown?
Oh, glad refrain!
Oh, blessed comfort from the Mother-heart of God,
That whispers low
Of unselfed love!
Thou first must sow
True bliss doth grow,
As self is lost in love.