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 human grief and burdened toil,
from famished souls, from sorrow's stress
your heart has never known recoil.

4 The cup of water giv'n for you
still holds the freshness of your grace;
yet long these multitudes to view
the sweet compassion in your face.

5 O Master, from the mountain side,
make haste to heal these hearts of pain;
among these restless throngs abide;
O tread the city's streets again;

6 till all the world shall learn your love,
and follow where your feet have trod;
till glorious from your heav'n above
shall come the city of our God.