God careth for thee, weeping one,
His hand is round thee now;
For thee His best is always done;
Ο then, why weepest thou?
God loves thee well, thou troubled one,
Heaven wonders at such love;
He loves thee as He loveth none
In angel ranks above.
Throughout the earth His earnest eye
Hath careful searched, to see
What spot it was beneath the sky
That best befitted thee.
Yet thou that chosen, holy place
Profanest now with tears;
And when thy soul should sing its praise,
It weeps its idle fears.
Ο wherefore, wherefore, dost thou wrong
His heart who loves thee so?
And rob Him of thy tribute song,
To nurse thy thankless woe?
If thou must weep, then weep for joy
That God thy Father is;
Whose grace does all its powers employ
To load thy soul with bliss.