1 Daughters of pity, tune the lay;
To mourners joy belongs;
While he, that wipes all our tears away,
Accepts our thankful songs.
2 No altars smoke, no off'rings bleed,
No guiltless lives expire;
To help a brother in his need,
Is all our rites require.
3 Our off'ring is a willing mind
To comfort the distrust;
In others' good our own we find,
In others' blessing blest.
4 Go to the pillow of disease,
Where night gives no repose,
And on the cheek, where sickness preys,
Bid health to plant a rose.
5 Go where the friendless stranger lies;
To perish is his doom:
Snatch from the grave his closing eyes,
And bring his blessing home.
6 Thus, what our heav'nly Father gave,
Shall we as freely give;
Thus copy him, who liv'd to save,
And died that we might live.
|First Line:||Daughters of pity, tune the lay|