O GREAT CONSOLER
A hymn to thee, a hymn to thee, consoler;Thou strong consoler who hast touched our lifeWith a great quiet brooding o’er its strife;With a great peace beyond its wrath and dolor.All other hopes, all other loves, may fail us;Thou over all art truth and constancy;Our little passions quench themselves in thee;Thy balm and strength must at the last avail us.Walk with me then as brother walks with brother;Hold thou my hand; I think I hear thee say:“Bethink thee; this may be thy last ‘today’;Thine eyes may not look out across another.“Then forward! face what e’er it brings and laughStraight in the eyes of Fortune at her worst;No loss he fears who hath lost all at first,Nor fears to drink, who my dark wine would quaff.“Art empty-handed? Yea, but at the bestNo wealth of earth could stay an hour my feet;Dost thirst! My cup upon the lip is sweet;Art weary? I alone can give thee rest.”