SACRED LYRIC by ISIDORE G. ASCHER

WHEN Sorrow, blinded with her tears,
Upon my life in darkness stole
And quenched my hopes and roused my fears,
And smote and pierced my weary soul,
O, then, I turned my heart to Thee,
O Lord of Hosts, to comfort me.

When, like rough winds in stormy skies,
Fears lashed my heart and seared my brain,
Until before my aching eyes
Life's joys were pitilessly slain,
Alone, I turned, O God, to Thee,
To solace and to comfort me.

For cares may blind and gloom may shroud,
And desolation chill the heart,
But Thou canst rend the blackest cloud,
And heal life's anguish and its smart;
As humbly I may turn to Thee.
O Lord of Hosts! to comfort me.

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