1 Where cross the crowded ways of life,
Where sound the cries of race and clan,
Above the noise of selfish strife,
We hear your voice, O Son of Man.
2 In haunts of wretchedness and need,
On shadowed thresholds dark with fears,
From paths where hide the lures of greed,
We catch the vision of your tears.
3 From tender childhood's helplessness,
From woman's grief, man's burdened toil,
From famished souls, from sorrow's stress,
Your heart has never known recoil.
4 The cup of water given for you
Still holds the freshness of your grace;
Yet long these multitudes to view
The sweet compassion of your face.
5 O Master, from the mountainside,
Make haste to heal these hearts of pain;
Among these restless throngs abide,
O tread the city's streets again;
6 Till sons of men shall learn your love,
And follow where your feet have trod;
Till glorious from your heaven above
Shall come the city of our God.
Amen.