While rose-buds scarcely show'd their hue, But coyly linger'd on the thorn.
Prayer moves the arm Which moves the world, And brings salvation down.
Songs of praise the angels sang, Heav'n with alleluias rang, when creation was begun, when God spoke and it was done.
Gashed with honourable scars,Low in Glory's lap they lie;Though they fell, they fell like stars,Streaming splendour through the sky.
Blue thou art, intensely blue; Flower, whence came thy dazzling hue?
When the good man yields his breath (For the good man never dies).