O daugh­ters blest of Ga­li­lee,
With Je­sus chose ye well to be,
Thrice hap­py ho­ly com­pa­ny.

O joy, to see that Mas­ter dear!
O joy, to live with Him so near!
O joy, that gen­tle voice to hear!

O more than joy, to that dear Lord,
In pur­est, deep­est love ad­ored,
All low­ly ser­vice to af­ford.

Yea, hap­py was your lot to bring
In loy­al hom­age to your king
Each free and gra­cious of­fer­ing.

O Je­sus, throned above the height,
Adoring troops of an­gels bright
Wait on Thy bid­ding day and night.

Thy sac­red form we can­not see,
Yet, Lord, these hands may ren­der Thee
Each low­ly act of char­ity.

For while, ’mid want and woe we move,
And tend Thy poor in gen­tle love,
We min­is­ter to Thee above.

O gra­cious Je­sus, we con­fess,
Our poor cold love, our no­thing­ness:
Yet Thou wilt own, and Thou wilt bless.