What man soe’er I chance to see –
Amazing thought – kin to me,
And if a man, my brother.

What though in silken raiment fine
His form be clad, while naked mine;
He is a man my brother.

What though with flashing chariot wheel
He spurn my cry, not pity feel;
He is a man, my brother.

What thought he sit in regal state
And for an empire legislate,
He is a man, my brother.

What though he grovel at my feet,
Spurned by the rabble of the street
He is a man, my brother.

What though his hand with crime be red,
His heart a stone, his conscious dead;
He is a man, my brother

And when we pass upon the street,
It is my brother that I meet;
Alas, alas, my brother !

Though low his life, and black his heart,
There is a nobler, deathless part
Within this man, my brother.

The soul which this frail clay enfolds,
The image of his Maker holds –
That makes this man my brother.

Though dimly there that image shine,
It marks the soul a thing divine
A child of God, my brother.

For him the spotless Son of God
The Perfect Man, our pathway trod,
To show Himself our brother.

Nor walks the earth so vile a wretch,
But down to him that love do stretch,
As to an only brother.

Though deep the abyss with darkness lower,
‘Tis but the measure if His power
Who will then raise my brother.

A Saviour to the uttermost,
He will not see His brother lost,
Nigh ruined, yet his brother