Classic Poem

He cometh in sweet sense to thee,
Be it or dawn, or noon, or night,—
No deepest pain, nor halest glee,
But He discerneth it aright.

If there be tears bedim thine eyes,
His sympathy thou findest plain,—
The darkest midnight of the skies
He weepeth with the tears of rain.

If thou art joyful, He hath had
His gracious will, and lo, 'tis well,—
As thou art glad, so He is glad,
Nor mercy strained one syllable.

Wild vows are words, as prayers are words.—
God's mercy is not measured by
Our poor deservings: He affords
To listen, if we laugh or cry.