Oh, Thou, who once on earth, beneath the weight Of our mortality, didst live and move, The incarnation of profoundest love; Who on the Cross that love didst consummate-- Whose deep and ample fulness could embrace The poorest, meanest, of our fallen race: How shall we e'er that boundless debt repay? By long loud prayers in gorgeous temples said? By rich oblations on Thine altars laid? Ah, no! not thus Thou didst appoint the way. When Thou wast bowed our human woe beneath, Then, as a legacy, Thou didst bequeath Earth's sorrowing children to our ministry-- And, as we do to them we do to Thee. ANNE CHARLOTTE LYNCH. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Bitter Cry of Outcast London, by Andrew Mearns and William Carnall Preston