Blue thou art, intensely blue; Flower, whence came thy dazzling hue?

Gashed with honourable scars,Low in Glory's lap they lie;Though they fell, they fell like stars,Streaming splendour through the sky.

When to the cross I turn my eyes,And rest on Calvary,O Lamb of God, my sacrifice,I must remember Thee.

Night is the time to weep,To wet with unseen tearsThose graves of memory where sleepThe joys of other years.

Two roses on one slender spray In sweet communion grew, Together hailed the morning ray And drank the evening dew.

The Dove, on silver pinions, winged her peaceful way.

Prayer is the soul's sincere desire, Uttered or unexpressed, The motion of a hidden fire That trembles in the breast. Prayer is the burden of a sigh, The falling of a tear, The upward glancing of an eye When none but God is near.