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.