OUR ROSE.
No fairer rose e'er grew
Than our garden bower knew;
And her influence like odor breathed around;
The magic of her words
Touched our bosom's tenderest chords—
And our hearts to our Rose were closely bound.
Than our garden bower knew;
And her influence like odor breathed around;
The magic of her words
Touched our bosom's tenderest chords—
And our hearts to our Rose were closely bound.
The lily veils its face,
And shuns with modest grace
The gaze of the crowd passing by;
Thus she, our garden's pride,
Her sweetness sought to hide—
But an angel called Death claimed our Rose for the sky.
And shuns with modest grace
The gaze of the crowd passing by;
Thus she, our garden's pride,
Her sweetness sought to hide—
But an angel called Death claimed our Rose for the sky.
Then she faded like a flower,
That in autumn's early hour
Feels the chilling winds o'er its leaves sweet;
But our Rose is blooming still
Where no blighting frost can kill—
This precious thought shall cheer us, though we weep.
That in autumn's early hour
Feels the chilling winds o'er its leaves sweet;
But our Rose is blooming still
Where no blighting frost can kill—
This precious thought shall cheer us, though we weep.