THE LEGEND OF THE ROSEBUDS.
WHEN cruel hands that crown did twine,
Which pressed the Saviour's brow divine,
Unconsciously a rosebud white,
Was twined amid the sharp thorns tight;
And, lying on that holy hair,
It saw where thorns had wounded there;
So, gently from its place it slips,
To kiss the wound with trembling lips;
And ever since, the legend said,
The blood has tinged its lips with red;
The emblem of God's love and grace,
Among the thorns it kept its place;
So ne'er a crown of thorns we win,
But has some sweet flower twined within;
Search 'mid each, with fingers of care,
You'll find a rosebud hidden there.