(Music by Greg Brown / poem of William Blake)

Can I see another's woe
And not be in sorrow too?
Can I see another's grief
And not seek for kind relief?

Can I see a falling tear
And not feel my sorrow's share?
Can a father see his child
Weep, nor be with sorrow filled?

Can a mother sit and hear
An infant groan, an infant fear?
No, no! never can it be!
Never, never can it be!

And can He who smiles on all
Hear the wren with sorrows small
Hear the small bird's grief and care
Hear the woes that infants bear -

And not sit beside the nest
Pouring pity in their breast
And not sit the cradle near
Weeping tear on infant's tear?
And not sit both night and day
Wiping all our tears away?
O no! never can it be!
Never, never can it be!

He doth give His joy to all:
He becomes an infant small
He becomes a man of woe
He doth feel the sorrow too

Think not thou canst sigh a sigh
And thy Maker is not by:
Think not thou canst weep a tear
And thy Maker is not near

O He gives to us His joy
That our grief He may destroy:
Till our grief is fled and gone
He doth sit by us and moan
Can I see another's woe
And not be in sorrow too?
Can I see another's grief
And not seek for kind relief?

Can I see a falling tear
And not feel my sorrow's share?
Can a father see his child
Weep, nor be with sorrow filled?
Can a mother sit and hear
An infant groan, an infant fear?
No, no! never can it be!
Never, never can it be!

And can He who smiles on all
Hear the wren with sorrows small
Hear the small bird's grief and care
Hear the woes that infants bear -

And not sit beside the nest
Pouring pity in their breast
And not sit the cradle near
Weeping tear on infant's tear?

And not sit both night and day
Wiping all our tears away?
O no! never can it be!
Never, never can it be!

He doth give His joy to all:
He becomes an infant small
He becomes a man of woe
He doth feel the sorrow too

Think not thou canst sigh a sigh
And thy Maker is not by:
Think not thou canst weep a tear
And thy Maker is not near
O He gives to us His joy
That our grief He may destroy:
Till our grief is fled and gone
He doth sit by us and moan