Here, Lord, We Offer Thee

Here

Lord

we of­fer Thee all that is fair­est

Bloom from the gar­den

and flow­ers from the field;

Gifts for the strick­en ones

know­ing Thou car­est

More for the love than the wealth that we yield.

Send

Lord

by these to the sick and the dy­ing

Speak to their hearts with a mes­sage of peace;

Comfort the sad

who in weak­ness are ly­ing

Grant the de­part­ing a gen­tle re­lease.

Raise

Lord

to health

Those again who have sick­ened

Fair be their lives as the ros­es in bloom;

Give of Thy grace to the souls Thou hast quick­ened

Gladness for sor­row

and bright­ness for gloom.

We

Lord

like flow­ers

Must bloom and must wi­ther;

We

like these blooms

must fade and must die;

Gather us

Lord

to Thy bosom for­ev­er

Grant us a place in Thy house in the sky.