She loved her Sav­ior, and to Him
Her cost­li­est pre­sent brought;
To crown His head, or grace His name,
No gift too rare she thought.

And though the pru­dent world­ling frowned,
And thought the poor be­reft;
Christ’s hum­ble friend sweet com­fort found,
For He ap­proved the gift.

The poor are al­ways with us here,
’Tis our great Fa­ther’s plan
That mu­tu­al wants and mu­tu­al care
May bind us man to man.

So let the Sav­ior be adored,
And not the poor des­pised,
Give to the hun­gry from your hoard,
But all, give all to Christ.

Go, clothe the nak­ed, lead the blind,
Give to the wea­ry rest;
For sor­row’s child­ren com­fort find,
And help for all dis­tressed.

But give to Christ alone Thy heart,
Thy faith, Thy love su­preme,
Then for His sake Thine alms im­part,
And so give all to Him.