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.

The voice says, “Cry!” What shall we cry?
“All flesh is grass, and like the flower
Its glories droop, its pleasures die,
Its joys but last one fleeting hour.”

The voice says, “Cry!” O piteous cry!
And are there none to help and save?
Have all that live beneath the sky
No other prospect but a grave?

The voice says, “Cry!” Yet glorious cry!
The Word of God can never fall,
And tells how Jesus, throned on high,
Holds out eternal life to all.

The voice says, “Cry!” Who needs the cry?
O brother men! who needs it not?
By countless millions, far and nigh,
’Tis still unheard, despised, forgot.

The voice says, “Cry!” What stops the cry?
Our greed of wealth, our love of ease,
Our lack of earnest will to try
Mankind to save, and God to please.

The voice says, “Cry!” O let us cry!
Though standing on death’s awful brink,
Men feast, they jest, they sell, they buy,
And cannot see, and will not think.

The voice says, “Cry!” Lord, we would cry
But of Thy goodness teach us how;
For fast the hours of mercy fly,
And, if we cry, it must be now!