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? Oh,
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.
Oh,
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. |
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