Emblems of Christ our Lord,
Roses and lilies fair,
These flowers in His word,
His glory seem to share.
The lilies of the field,
Sweet teachers of the soul,
Which will their lessons yield
Long as the seasons roll,
They neither toil nor spin,
Exist without a care,
And yet no earthly king can win
A garb so chaste and rare.
Frozen, they burst to life,
To nature's minstrelsy —
A resurrection type
Of immortality.