Arise, my ten­der­est thoughts, arise,
To tor­rents melt my stream­ing eyes;
And thou, my heart, with ang­uish feel
Those ev­ils which thou canst not heal.

See hu­man nature sunk in shame!
See scan­dals poured on Je­sus’ name!
The Fa­ther wound­ed thro’ the Son;
The world ab­used, the soul un­done!

See the short course of vain de­light,
Closing in ev­er­last­ing night;
In flames, that no abate­ment know,
Though bri­ny tears for­ev­er flow.

My God, I feel the mourn­ful scene!
My bow­els yearn o’er dy­ing men!
And fain my pi­ty would re­claim
And snatch the fire­brands from the flame.

But fee­ble my com­pass­ion proves,
And can but weep where most it loves;
Thine own all sav­ing arm em­ploy,
And turn these drops of grief to joy.