Where cross the crowded ways of life
Where sound the cries of race and clan,
Above the noise of selfish strife,
We hear thy voice, O Son of man.
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 thy tears.
From tender childhood's helplessness,
From woman's grief, man's burdened toil,
From famished souls, from sorrow's stress,
Thy heart has never known recoil.
The cup of water given for Thee
Still holds the freshness of thy grace;
Yet long these multitudes to see
The sweet compassion of thy face.
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,
Till sons of men shall learn thy love
And follow where thy feet have trod;
Till glorious from thy heaven above
Shall come the city of our God.
--Frank Mason North.
Who seeks for heaven alone to save his soul
May keep the path, but will not reach the goal;
While he who walks in love may wander far,
But God will bring him where the blessed are.
--Henry van Dyke.
Persuasion, friend, comes not by toil or art,
Hard study never made the matter clearer;
'Tis the live fountain in the preacher's heart
Sends forth the streams that melt the ravished hearer.
--Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.