William Preston Johnston - The Franciscan lyrics

HAVE pity, dear Christ, on the sons of men, Who grovel and starve in alleys and docks; The wolf hath his lair, the bear hath his den And conies hide in the holes of the rocks; But the shelter of home is denied thy flocks Who huddle and slink in the filth and mire Of the sewers called cities, wehre misery mocks, Whose sons pa** to Moloch through torture and fire! But I! What can I do? Jesu! I can cry, "Dear Brother, come forth from the cesspool of sin, The help of my hand, the throb of my heart Are thine if thou wilt, rise up, do thy part. Thou canst not? Thou shalt! One soul I will win For the Lord who is deaf to no penitent's sigh."