1 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.
2 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.
3 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.