I would sing of the roses
Their fragrance, their color, their form;
The beautiful fragrant storm
Of petals, dainty rose petals
That down on the soft grass settles
To keep the daisies warm.
Each exquisite bud that uncloses,
To me is an inspiration
A wonderful new creation
That some mind has thought about;
And skeptic, where is your doubt?
Who planned the pattern and cut it out
Of the wonderful, beautiful roses?
O my beautiful roses!
There was one who loved you, too,
But with the golden Summer
She silently passed away;
I would give all ambition has thought or planned
To lay one bud in her outstretched hand
And see her smile today.
Where shall I take my roses?
Shall I walk down the busy street
And give each child I meet
Whose longing eyes shall ask it
One flower from my brimming basket,
One rosebud fresh and sweet?
Or shall I take my roses
To cheer an invalid's room
With color and perfume?
From altar and chancel swinging
Where the lofty choir is singing
Shall they burn their censer bloom?
