O friend, who singest aye His praise so sweet
Who in the street ne'er lifted up His voice
Nor cried aloud, — who biddest the world rejoice
In a Man of Sorrows, and, as 'tis meet,
With loving heart and ever wandering feet
Dost prove thy mission from the homeless Lord:
As thine the riches of His precious word,
Thine be the sharing of that bliss complete.

Thee, tuneful herald of earth's banished king,
His gracious hands with rarest gifts endue.
How far more grateful thy glad offering
Than my poor service! Yet I count it true,
He holds me mute who gives thee power to sing;
Who needs thy song, can use my silence too.