When Jesus
Christ was yet
a child
he had a
garden small
and wild,
wherein he
cherished
roses fair
and wove them
into garlands
there.
Now once as
summertime
drew nigh
there came a
troop of
children by,
and seeing
roses on the
tree
with shouts
they plucked
them merrily.
“Do you bind
roses in your
hair?”
they cried, in
scorn to Jesus
there.
The boy said
humbly,
"Take I pray,
all but the
naked thorns
away."
Then of the
thorns they
made a crown
and with rough
fingers
pressed it
down,
‘til on his
fore-head fair
and young,
red drops of
blood like
roses sprung.
Alleluia