Tuesday, February 23, 2016

The Rose


The rose that grows on yonder thorn
And glows a fervent red,
Sprouts petals like the drops of blood
Around a sacred head.

The cedar on the hillside bare  
With boughs that reach the sky,
Shows us with its bare, tall, frame
The way One of us died.

The sun, now hidden by grey clouds
Now here, now there, now gone
Is to us as the love of God,
Which came to us unbidden.

The child upon his mother’s knee
Whose hair glows as the sun,
Is as He came to us one night,
As one of us, true born.

Remember that God’s Son came down
To save humanity;
We see in every rose His blood, 
His cross in every tree.

Maura Tuffy