1 So fades the lovely, blooming flow'r;
Frail, smiling solace of an hour;
So soon our transient comforts fly,
And pleasure only blooms to die.

2 Is there no kind, no healing art
To soothe the anguish of the heart?
Spirit of grace, be ever nigh;
Thy comforts are not made to die.

3 Let gentle patience smile on pain
Till dying hope revives again;
Hope wipes the tear from sorrow's eye,
And faith points upward to the sky.

Amen.