When man from Paradise was driven,
And thorns around his pathway sprung,
Sweet Mercy wandering there from heaven
Upon those thorns bright roses flung.

Aye, and as Justice cursed the ground,
She stole behind, unheard, unseen--
And while the curses fell around,
She scattered seeds of joy between.

And thus, as evils sprung to light,
And spread, like weeds, their poisons wide,
Fresh healing plants came blooming bright,
And stood, to check them, side by side.

And now, though Eden blooms afar,
And man is exiled from its bowers,
Still mercy steals through bolt and bar,
And brings away its choicest flowers.

The very toil, the thorns of care,
That Heaven in wrath for sin imposes,
By mercy changed, no curses are--
One brings us rest, the other roses.

Thus joy is linked with every woe--
Each cup of ill its pleasure brings;
The rose is crushed, but then, you know,
The sweeter fragrance from it springs.

If justice throw athwart our way,
A deepening eve of fear and sorrow,
Hope, like the moon, reflects the ray
Of the bright sun that shines to-morrow.

And mercy gilds with stars the night;
Sweet music plays through weeping willows;
The blackest cave with gems is bright,
And pearls illume the ocean billows.

The very grave, though clouds may rise,
And shroud it o'er with midnight gloom,
Unfolds to faith the deep blue skies,
That glorious shine beyond the tomb.