Το weary hearts, to mourning homes, God's meekest an-gel gen- tly comes.
And yet, in tend'rest love, our dear And heav'nly Fa-ther sends him here.
I To weary hearts, to mourning homes
God's meekest angel gently comes.
No power hath he to banish pain,
Or give to us our lost again;
And yet, in tenderest love, our dear
And heavenly Father sends him here.
2 There's quiet in that angel's glance,
There's rest in his still countenance;
He mocks no grief with idle cheer,
Nor wounds with words the mourner's ear;
But ills and woes, he may not cure,
He kindly trains us to endure.
3 Thou patience's angel! sent to calm
Our feverish brows with cooling balm,
To lay the storms of hope and fear,
And reconcile life's smile and tear,
The throbs of wounded pride to still,
And make our own our Father's will!
4 O thou who mournest on the way
With longings for the close of day,
He walks with thee, that angel kind
And gently whispers "Be resigned!"
Bear up, bear on, the end shall tell,
That God doth order all things well.