“From vintages of sorrow
Are sweetest joys distilled,
And the cup outstretched for healing,
Is oft at Marah filled.
God leads to joy through weeping.
To quietness through strife,
Through yielding into conquest.
Through death to endless His.
Be still—He hath enrolled thee,
For the kingdom and the crown,
Be silent let Him mold thee.
Who calleth thee His own.”