Lord, change my suffering, I pray,
Into a sunrise, high and grand,
Through my tears, please, make a way,
to soothe every withered hand.

From unjust blows that scar and bruise,
Make pleasant balm and sweet wine,
From defeats, make a new muse,
From my valleys, peaks divine.

From the poison in my cup,
Make love's scent; rich and warm,
For all people to pick it up,
To bring calm to any storm.

From every wound, make a new dream,
and from every fall, a place to learn,
From every desert, a clear stream,
From every loss, a way to earn.

From the darkest nights, please, Lord,
Make a light, a glorious morning,
and from everything, make a reward,
A crown to wear at Your Coming.