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
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
The cup of water giv'n for Thee
Still holds the freshness of Your grace
Yet long these multitudes to see
The sweet compassion of Your face
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
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Alternate Verses:
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
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
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