Gracious Saviour, when life's day-dreams Melt and vanish from the sight, May our dim and longing vision Then be blessed with light, more light.
You can sigh o'er the sad-eyed Armenian Who weeps in her desolate home.
You can mourn o'er the exile of Russia From kindred and friends doomed to roam.
You can pity the men who have woven From passion and appetite chains To coil with a terrible tension Around their heartstrings and brains.
You can sorrow o'er little children Disinherited from their birth, The wee waifs and toddlers neglected, Robbed of sunshine, music and mirth.
For beasts you have gentle compassion;Your mercy and pity they share.
For the wretched, outcast and fallen You have tenderness, love and care.
But hark! from our Southland are floating Sobs of anguish, murmurs of pain, And women heart-stricken are weeping Over their tortured and their slain.
On their brows the sun has left traces;Shrink not from their sorrow in scorn.
When they entered the threshold of being The children of a King were born.
Each comes as a guest to the table The hand of our God has outspread, To fountains that ever leap upward, To share in the soil we all tread.
When ye plead for the wrecked and fallen, The exile from far-distant shores, Remember that men are still wasting Life's crimson around your own doors.
Have ye not, oh, my favored sisters, Just a plea, a prayer or a tear, For mothers who dwell 'neath the shadows Of agony, hatred and fear?
Men may tread down the poor and lowly, May crush them in anger and hate.
