1 Father of mercies, send thy grace,
All pow'rful from above,
To form, in our obedient souls,
The image of thy love.

2 O may our sympathizing breasts
The gen'rous pleasure know;
Kindly to share in other's joy,
And weep for other's woe.

3 When the most helpless sons of grief
In low distress are laid,
Soft be our hearts, their pains to feel,
And swift our hands to aid.

4 So Jesus look'd on dying man,
When thron'd above the skies;
And mid'st th' embraces of his God,
He felt compassion rise.

5 On wings of love the Saviour flew,
To raise us from the ground,
And shed the richest of his blood,
A balm for ev'ry wound.