Lord, when in Simon’s house of yore,
Thou with Thy friends didst sit at meat,
Mary the precious spikenard bore,
And poured it at Thy sacred feet.
Like incense sweet, the perfume rare,
Rose through the house, and sought the skies;
And Thou didst own with blessing there
A woman’s loving sacrifice.
So unto Thee, O Lord, this day,
A year of labor here we bring;
So at Thy feet the gift we lay;
Accept, O Lord, the offering.