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 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. 3 The cup of water given for you still holds the freshness of your grace; yet long these multitudes to view the sweet compassion of your face. 4 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. 5 Till all the world shall learn your love and follow where your feet have trod, till, glorious from your heaven above, shall come the city of our God.