There is no sorrow, Lord, too light
To bring in prayer to Thee;
There is no anxious care too slight
To wake Thy sympathy.
Thou, Who hast trod the thorny road,
Wilt share each small distress;
The love, which bore the greater load,
Will not refuse the less.
There is no secret sigh we breathe,
But meets Thine ear divine;
And every cross grows light beneath
The shadow, Lord, of Thine.
Life�s ills without, sin�s strife within,
The heart would overflow,
But for that love which died for sin,
That love which wept with woe.
