Cranberry - The Language of Flowers

Cranberry

Cure for heart-ache.

Art thou forsaken? Cold and dark, indeed,
The fate unsoothed by sympathetic tears!
And well the stricken heart unstanched may bleed,
With no soft, pitying voice to lull its fears.
"Look up, thou poor forsaken!" Jesus sped,
All trustful, through a lot as dark as thine;
And know'st thou not that wheresoe'er he led,
The path tends onward to a rest divine?
Art thou reviled? Do foes insnare thy feet?
Do proud ones mock thee, and thy friends betray?
Thou canst not drain the bitter from the sweet,
Nor pluck the rose and throw the thorn away.
But, like thy Saviour, turn the other cheek
When one is struck, and say, "Thou art forgiven?"
Like him be faithful, and like him be meek,
And speed, as he sped, hopefully to heaven!