Pour Thy bless­ings, Lord, like show­ers,
On these bar­ren lives of ours;
Warm and quick­en them with grace
Till they bloom and bear apace
Fruit of pray­er and fruit of praise,
Holy thoughts and kind­ly ways,
Loving sac­ri­fices shown
Wheresoever need is known.

Chiefest, Lord, to­day may we
In the sick and suf­fer­ing see,
Those whom Thou would’st have us bless
With fra­ter­nal ten­der­ness,
With our trea­sure free­ly poured,
With com­pass­ion’s rich­er hoard,
With these mi­nis­tries most dear
To Thy strick­en child­ren here.

Heavy is the cross they bear,
But our love that cross can share;
Dark Thy pro­vi­dence must seem,
But our cheer can cast a gleam
On their lot; and in our turn
Holiest les­sons we may learn,
Where Thine own re­veal­ing light
Streams through pain’s mys­ter­ious night.