Classic Poem

Lord, what offering shall we bring,
At thine altars when we bow?
Hearts, the pure, unsullied spring
Whence the kind affections flow;

Quiet thoughts, at peace with all;
Wrongs forgiven into rest;
Sympathy, intent to call
Sorrow from the wounded breast;

Willing hands to lead the blind,
Bind the wounded, feed the poor;
Love, embracing all our kind;
Charity, with liberal store.

Teach us, O thou heavenly King,
Thus to show our grateful mind,
Thus the accepted offering bring,—
Love to thee and all mankind.