| Can I see another’s woe,
|
| And not be in sorrow too?
|
| Can I see another’s grief,
|
| And not seek for kind relief?
|
| Can I see a falling tear,
|
| And not feel my sorrow’s share?
|
| Can a father see his child
|
| Weep, nor be with sorrow filled?
|
| Can a mother sit and hear
|
| An infant groan, an infant fear?
|
| No, no! |
| never can it be!
|
| Never, never can it be!
|
| And can He who smiles on all
|
| Hear the wren with sorrows small,
|
| Hear the small bird’s grief and care,
|
| Hear the woes that infants bear —
|
| And not sit beside the nest,
|
| Pouring pity in their breast,
|
| And not sit the cradle near,
|
| Weeping tear on infant’s tear?
|
| And not sit both night and day,
|
| Wiping all our tears away?
|
| O no! |
| never can it be!
|
| Never, never can it be!
|
| He doth give His joy to all:
|
| He becomes an infant small,
|
| He becomes a man of woe,
|
| He doth feel the sorrow too.
|
| Think not thou canst sigh a sigh,
|
| And thy Maker is not by:
|
| Think not thou canst weep a tear,
|
| And thy Maker is not near.
|
| O He gives to us His joy,
|
| That our grief He may destroy:
|
| Till our grief is fled and gone
|
| He doth sit by us and moan.
|
| Can I see another’s woe,
|
| And not be in sorrow too?
|
| Can I see another’s grief,
|
| And not seek for kind relief?
|
| Can I see a falling tear,
|
| And not feel my sorrow’s share?
|
| Can a father see his child
|
| Weep, nor be with sorrow filled?
|
| Can a mother sit and hear
|
| An infant groan, an infant fear?
|
| No, no! |
| never can it be!
|
| Never, never can it be!
|
| And can He who smiles on all
|
| Hear the wren with sorrows small,
|
| Hear the small bird’s grief and care,
|
| Hear the woes that infants bear —
|
| And not sit beside the nest,
|
| Pouring pity in their breast,
|
| And not sit the cradle near,
|
| Weeping tear on infant’s tear?
|
| And not sit both night and day,
|
| Wiping all our tears away?
|
| O no! |
| never can it be!
|
| Never, never can it be!
|
| He doth give His joy to all:
|
| He becomes an infant small,
|
| He becomes a man of woe,
|
| He doth feel the sorrow too.
|
| Think not thou canst sigh a sigh,
|
| And thy Maker is not by:
|
| Think not thou canst weep a tear,
|
| And thy Maker is not near.
|
| O He gives to us His joy,
|
| That our grief He may destroy:
|
| Till our grief is fled and gone
|
| He doth sit by us and moan |