Daughters of Pity, Tune the Lay

Daughters of pi­ty

tune the lay;

To mourn­ers joy be­longs;

While He that wipes all tears away

Accepts our thank­ful songs.

No al­tars smoke

no of­fer­ings bleed

No guilt­less lives ex­pire;

To help a bro­ther in his need

Is all our rites re­quire.

Our of­fer­ing is a will­ing mind

To com­fort the dis­tressed;

In oth­ers’ good our own to find

In oth­ers’ bless­ing blest.

Go to the pil­low of dis­ease

Where night gives no re­pose

And on the cheek where sick­ness preys

Bid health to plant a rose.

Go where the friend­less strang­er lies;

To per­ish is his doom:

Snatch from the grave his clos­ing eyes

And bring his bless­ing home.

Thus

what our heav’n­ly Fa­ther gave

Shall we as free­ly give;

Thus co­py Him who lived to save

And died that we might live.