The Rose of Bethlehem
T'was in an English garden,
"The Rose of Bethlehem,"
a name upon a label,
a flower, a leaf, a stem.
The petals were of crimson,
the leaves a greenish blue,
the stem was long and slender,
with a lovely golden hue.
The buds were set in diamonds
created by the dew,
they glistened in the sunlight
and flashed with brilliance new.
The perfume was like incense
at the holy birth,
presented to our saviour,
a gift from man on Earth.
A cobweb like a mantle
was woven round the stem
to catch the little raindrops
as Christ had sought for men.
The bark which tasted bitter,
the thorn so sharp and long
were symbols of Good Friday
and the Crucifixion wrong.
The crimson was for Calvary,
the blood of Christ so red,
the buds in all their freshness,
our Lord back from the dead.
The dews reflect Christ's glory,
the gold his Kingly right,
reigning high above us
and bathed in heavenly light.
T'was in an English garden
I picked mx first long stem,
the flower with a label,
"The Rose of Bethlehem."
