O Great Consoler
A hymn to thee, a hymn to thee, consoler;
Thou strong consoler who hast touched our life
With 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 laugh
Straight 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 best
No 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.”