The Shower of Roses

One by one she plucked the petals from the roses white and red;
       Plucked them with her dying fingers, kissed and strewed them round her Dead.

In her eyes the piteous vision of His foretold Leper Face;

       In her ears the ruthless jeering round the Fairest of our race.

Day by day Therese of Carmel, like the flowers of Calvary,

       Gave unto the stricken Jesus perfume sweet of sympathy.

Gave to Him white innocences, many an unseen sacrifice,

       Love that fain would have outrivaled all the loves of Paradise.

Now from Thabor's heights she tells us each the little way to trace.

       And 'tis Christ who plucks the roses for the Angel of His Face.

Swift our Seraph casts them from her, over Eden's jasper wall,

       East to West — a myriad blossoms — thick as snow the rose
       flakes fall.

From her grasp still falling, falling, soft the scented shower descends;
       Petals white for souls of scarlet — red love-petals for her 
       friends.

And when little souls are saddest, downward comes this gracious Queen,

       Brings — herself — to earth the roses: earth is Eden then, I 
       ween.

Thus she keeps her promise daring: "I — the Floweret shy of yore

       Heaven shall spend in sweet well-doing, Rose Queen be till 
       Earth's no more."

Return to

Table of Contents