1 Blest is the man whose bowels move, And melt with pity to the poor, Whose soul, by sympathising love, Feels what his fellow-saints endure.
2 His heart contrives for their relief More good than his own hands can do; He, in the time of general grief, Shall find the Lord has bowels too.
3 His soul shall live secure on earth, With secret blessings on his head, When drought, and pestilence, and dearth Around him multiply their dead.
4 Or if he languish on his couch, God will pronounce his sins forgiv'n, Will save him with a healing touch, Or take his willing soul to heaven.