The orphan’s cry. The widow’s sigh.
The forlorn and rent asunder.
The grieved. The hurt. The helpless folk
a tyrant’s yoke fell under.
The sad. The low. The desperate bloke.
Those the vile did plunder.
To these we heed the duty call,
Its voice as loud as thunder.
Relieve their miseries! Lift up their hearts!
Their burdens must we share!
From master’s wages we impart,
gauged by rule and square.
For even young Apprentice knows,
‘tween faithful breasts are burnt,
as Master’s hat extended,
a striking lesson’s learnt.
Our duty and our joy-- the same.
By Three Great Lights we see,
Great Master’s plans wrought through our hands,
our FAITH, our HOPE, our CHARITY.
David R. Ellis, PM
