When God was at His Mercy’s height,
The Human heart He fashioned,
And in eternal memory
Placed therein his love impassioned.
And when His kind prophetic eye,
Upon the heart had rested,
God wept with joy when He beheld
Happiness thus arrested.
But as he wept, into the heart
A tear dropped, without malice,
As oft a dewdrop falls within
A floweret’s thirsty chalice.
And that is why Love brings a pain
But a pain so dear and tender
That we must pity hundredfold
Hearts empty of its splendor.
And that is why Love holds of Joy
And Sorrow equal measure,
And often when the tear is stirred,
The heart bursts with its treasure.