When we stand with tears of anguish coursing down our cheeks,
We search for elusive answers, long to hear our Father speak.
But when the tears are dry, our souls have been washed clean;
We understand the power of the unremitting stream.

Tears that fall unbidden trace the path of where we've been
To mark the heartaches evermore, as an oft-recurring dream.                                                                   
But when our souls have been renewed and cleansed of blinding fraud,                                                   
Pretense and masks are washed away . . . We're ready to seek God.

The One who made our salty tears is the One to whom we cry;
Amidst our glistening dewdrops, He bids us to draw nigh,
And ere the silver stream is stayed and tears have ceased to flow,
His nail-pierced hand is reaching out to lead where e'er we go.

Thank God for tears . . . they help us see beyond all earthly fear;
He reaches down to ease our pain and wipe away each tear.
Messengers of God are they to lead us to His throne;
As tears fall down, He gathers them, so we know we're not alone.

He places them in His bottle and holds them in His heart.
He's there through all our suffering, each teardrop, every part.
Our tears are precious to our Lord, bright treasures He holds dear.
Through them, He speaks with healing words . . . with listening hearts, we hear.


You keep track of all my sorrows.
You have collected all my tears in your bottle.
You have recorded each one in your book. 
           Psalm 56:8 NLT