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202 FABER'S HYMNS.
Least griefs are more than we can bear, Each worse than those before;
Our own griefs always greater griefs Than those our fathers bore.
The griefs we have to bear alone, The griefs that we can share,
Our single griefs, our crowded griefs, — Which are the worst to bear?
Yet all are less than our deserts;
Within our grace they lie ; The sorrows we exaggerate
We cannot sanctify.
Dear Lord ! in all our loneliest pains
Thou hast the largest share, And that which is unbearable
'T is Thine, not ours, to bear.
How merciful Thine anger is,
How tender it can be, How wonderful all sorrows are
Which come direct from Thee !
Years fly, O Lord ! and every year
More desolate I grow; My world of friends thins round me fast,
Love after love lies low.