Is thy cruse of comfort wasting?
Rise, and with thy brother share.
And through all the years of famine
On its bounty ye shall fare.
Love divine will fill thy
storehouse,
Or thy handful still renew;
Scanty fare for one will often
Make a royal feast for two.
For the heart grows rich in giving;
All its wealth is living grain;
Seeds, which mildew in the garner,
Scattered, fill with gold the plain.
Is thy burden hard and heavy,
Do thy steps drag wearily?
Help to bear thy brother’s burden;
God will bear both it and thee.
Numb and weary on the mountains,
Wouldst thou sleep amidst the snow?
Chafe the frozen form beside thee,
And together both shall grow.
Art thou stricken in life’s battle?
Many wounded round thee moan;
Lavish on their wounds thy balsams
And that balm shall heal thine own.
Is the heart a well left empty?
None but God its void can fill;
Nothing but a ceaseless fountain
Can its ceaseless longings still.
Is the heart a living power?
Self entwined, its strength sinks low;
It can only live in loving,
And by serving love will grow.
