Where tearful ones must surely joy to come.
The bitter cup mix’d by my Father’s love,
A salutary medicine must prove;
Not nectar nor ambrosia has so sweet
An after taste, the longing soul to greet.
And, holy Father! I will ne’er refuse
To drink the portion thou for me shalt choose;
Whate’er betides, thy blessed will be done,
And thou shalt judge for me, Almighty One!
Trials are mercy’s faithful harbingers;