(Jesus is Near)
Why art thou troubled, wandering heart?
Why dost thou sigh with pain?
From whom do all thy sufferings come?
Of whom dost thou complain?
Is there no cure for wounds, no friend
To lend a pitying ear?
Why art thou troubled, wandering heart?
Weep not! See Jesus near!
Sorrow and hardship are for all
Though differing forms they wear.
The path He gave us teems with thorns,
The feet must suffer there.
What life, though but a day’s brief span,
Is free from pain and woe?
’Tis not for mortals born in grief
To live at ease below.
Not, for the transient joys of earth
Thy heart to thee was given,
But for an instrument of grief
To raise thy life toward heaven.
If joys be few, if pains abound,
If balms bring slow relief,
If wounds be sore and nature weak,
Thy earthly life is brief.
This is the vale of death and pain,
Ordained for ancient sin,
Except through anguish, Eden’s gate
No soul shall enter in.
Justice ordained it; mercy then
Made it more light to bear.
Unasked by thee, Christ sweetened it,
His love infusing there.
From heaven’s height He hastened down,
Pitying thy trouble sore;
With thee a servant He became
Himself thy wounds he bore.
He filled His cup celestial
Full of thy tears and pain,
And tremblingly, yet freely,
He dared the dregs to drain.
Remembering this, wilt thou not drink
Thy cup of tears and care?
’Tis proffered by thy Saviour’s hand,
His love is mingled there.
He feels and pities all thy woes,
He wipes away each tear;
Love He distils into thy griefs;
Weep not, for He is near.
Blackwell, “Armenian Poems,” pp. 112-114.