There is no sorrow, Lord, too light
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There is no sorrow, Lord, too light To bring in prayer to thee; There is no anxious care too slight To wake thy sympathy. Thou who hast trod the thorny road Wilt share each small distress; The love which bore the greater load Will not refuse the less. There is no secret sigh we breathe But meets thine ear divine; And every cross grows light beneath The shadow, Lord, of thine. Life's ills without, sin's strife within, The heart would overflow, But for that love which died for sin, That love which wept for woe. |
Tam parvus ecquis est dolor de quo non sint preces aut ulla cura levior quam ut tu toleres? Feres, viae tu, luctulum, viator spineae; onus tulisti maximum, non abnues leve. Exaudis tu suspirium, clam etsi fuerit, nec ullum non patibulum prae tuo lene fit. Ne culpa premat animas cum aegrimoniis, tu morte culpam dissipas et fles cum animis. |