Why restless, why so weary?
My soul, why so cast down?
Is all around thee dreary,
Or hath the cross no crown?

Where is the Lord that found thee,
Who once could make thee glad?
His arms are still around thee,
Then wherefore art thou sad?

O trust the Lord that bought thee-
O trust the sinners’ Friend;
The wondrous love that sought thee
Will keep thee to the end:

Will give a glorious morrow
To this thy night of pain;
And make thy dews of sorrow
Like shining after rain.