Our cities cry to you, O God

Our cities cry to you, O God,
from out their pain and strife;
you made us for yourself alone,
but we choose empty life.
Our goals are pleasure, gold, and power;
injustice stalks our earth;
in vain we seek for rest, for joy,
for sense of human worth.

Yet still you walk our streets, O Christ!
We know your presence here,
where humble Christians love and serve
in godly grace and fear.
O Word made flesh, be seen in us!
May all we see and do
affirm you God incarnate
and turn sad hearts to you!

Your people are your hands and feet
to serve your world today;
our lives, the book our cities read
to help them find your way.
O pour your sovereign Spirit out
on heart and will and brain:
inspire your Church with love and power
to ease our cities' pain!

O healing Savior, Prince of Peace,
salvation's source and sum,
for you our broken cities cry--
O come, Lord Jesus, come!
With truth your royal diadem,
with righteousness your rod,
O come, Lord Jesus, bring to earth
the city of our God!

Words: Margaret Clarkson
Words © 1987 by Hope Publishing Co., Carol Stream, IL 60188.
All rights reserved. Used by permission
For permission to reproduce this hymn, contact: Hope Publishing Company, www.hopepublishing.com

Music: Kingsfold, Hands of the Poor

Meter: CMD

Website compiled by Steve Benner, 1999-2003.