1 Can there a balm on earth be found,
To heal the wounded soul?
'Tis friendship: for it cheers, though all around
The waves of trouble roll:
But friends must die,
But friends must die,
And in the grave forsaken lie.
2 If there be aught beneath the skies
That vies with things above,
'Tis friendship; when its sacred charms arise
From pure and virtuous love;
But still how vain!
Dust must return to dust again.
3 Yet, while our earthly comforts fly,
We still retain one friend:
'Tis Jesus! while he lives we cannot die,
Nor can his friendship end:
His love shall last
When death expires and time is past.
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