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.”