Bitter, indeed, the waters are.
          Which in this desert flow;
Though to the eye they promise fair,
          They taste of sin and woe.
 

Of pleasing draughts I once could dream,
          But now, awake, l find,
That sin has poisoned every stream,
          And left a curse behind.
 

But there’s a wonder–working wood,
          I’ve heard believers say,
Can make these bitter waters good,
          And take the curse away.
 

The virtues of this healing tree
          Are known and prized by few;
Reveal this secret, Lord, to me,
          That I may prize it too.
 

The cross on which the Savior died,
          And conquered for his saints;
This is the tree, by faith applied,
          Which sweetens all complaints.

Thousands have found the blest effect,
          Nor longer mourn their lot;
While on his sorrows they reflect,
          Their own are all forgot.
 

When they, by faith, behold the cross,
          Though many griefs they meet;
They draw again from every loss,
          And find the bitter sweet.