Come unto me, my kindred, I enfold you
In an embrace to sufferers only known;
Close to this heart I tenderly will hold you,
Suppress no sigh, keep back no tear, no moan.
Thou Man of Sorrows, teach my lips that often
Have told the sacred story of my woe,
To speak of Thee till stony griefs I soften,
Till hearts that know Thee not learn Thee to know.
Till peace takes place of storm and agitation,
Till lying on the current of Thy will
There shall be glorying in tribulation,
And Christ Himself each empty heart shall fill.
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