Classic Poem

O Master of the common weal,
The shop, the field, the market place!
Thou knowest all the pangs we feel.
Thou knowest all our need of grace;
And where the world's injustice goads
The weary, on the climbing roads,
Stoop once again with tender voice,
Though clanging discord fills the air,
To whisper hope and bid rejoice
All who the world's oppression bear.
O Master of the toiling clan,
Thou Son of God! Thou Son of Man!

O Master of the common weal,
The shop, the field, the market place!
Thou knowest all the pangs we feel.
Thou knowest all our need of grace;
And where the world's injustice goads
The weary, on the climbing roads,
Stoop once again with tender voice,
Though clanging discord fills the air,
To whisper hope and bid rejoice
All who the world's oppression bear.
O Master of the toiling clan,
Thou Son of God! Thou Son of Man!