A life is but a teardrop on a face
That trickles down to nothing and is gone.
Deep pain and sorrow frequent every place,
For minor is life's melody of song.

The one we love dies after one short year;
Our innocence of heart crumbles away;
We spend our nights as captives of cruel fear;
And night is long and weary before day.

When blackness strikes our weak souls, look above.
For daylight breaks and spring's warmth melts our pain.
Beauty and joy dance over us with love.
After the storm, our God sends healing rain.

Your restless, teardrop life is so alone.
But blackest night succumbs to brighter dawn.