You’ve wept until your eyes are puffed
In turtle-shell disguise,
Your face is red, your cheeks are stained
With tears that trace your cries.
You hang your head as sorrow deep
Weighs your visage down;
You’ve cried heart dry so many times,
It weeps without a sound.
But you don’t see that in your grief
Your blooms are opening wide;
Rich beauty lies within your pain,
Allurement which can’t hide.
And as you grieve, the Master of
Your heart is drawing near;
He wipes your eyes, and as you cry,
True beauty washes clear.