Do You not pity us more than love?

We are so fragile made.

Apt to crumble at slightest touch,

gasping for breath we need so much.

Do You not wonder in sympathy?

We are so fragile mad.

Prone to failure and to pain,

seeking a slaking even in rain.

Do You not weep for us more than condemn?

We are so childish women and men.

Reach out and touch us on our face,

You who are love, and mercy, and grace.