147 Come, ye Disconsolate

1 Come, ye disconsolate, where’er ye languish, Come to the mercy seat, fervently kneel: Here bring your wounded hearts, here tell your anguish; Earth has no sorrow that heav’n cannot heal.

2 Joy of the desolate, light of the straying, Hope of the penitent, fadeless and pure! Here speaks the comforter, tenderly saying, “Earth has no sorrow that heav’n cannot cure.”

3 Here see the bread of life; see waters flowing Forth from the throne of God, pure from above: Come to the feast of love; come, ever knowing Earth has no sorrow but heav’n can remove.