Father of mercies! send thy grace,
All pow'rful from above,
To form, in our obedient souls,
The image of thy love.

Oh! may our sympathizing breasts
The gen'rous pleasure know,
Kindly to share in others' joy,
And weep for others' woe.

Not like the Levite and the Priest,
Who saw, with hearts of stone,
Their neighbor groaning in distress,
And left him still alone.

When the most helpless sons of grief
In sorrows low are laid,
Soft be our hearts their pains to feel,
And swift our hands to aid.

So Jesus look'd on dying man,
When thron'd above the skies;
And 'midst th' embraces of his God,
He felt compassion rise.

On wings of love the Savior flew
To raise us from the ground;
And shed the richest of his blood,
A balm for ev'ry wound.