A beautiful rose, by the morning’s soft breezes
Original language: English
Words: P. H. Young
On the Death of Harriot Frances Wheeler
Times and Seasons (1839–1846), Sep 1843
1. A beautiful rose, by the morning’s soft breezes,Had budded, alas! for a day;The dew drops were kissing the opening flower,As the sun rose to drive them away.
2. When first I beheld it, I long’d for the opening,Which dews in their turn would perform,And watching its glory, I saw, but with anguish,Concealed in its bosom a worm.
3. This rose, though in infancy, yet I found blooming—With graces exceeding by farThe rest of the roses that bloomed in the garden,With its beauty none there could compare.
4. O goddess of flowers! why hast thou thus cherishedFond hope in a bosom like this;While in thine own vitals a worm thou hast nourished,To take thee from earth, home to bliss.
5. I hailed thee with rapture, when the soft dews were shiningUpon thee, in infantile days.I saw thee when blooming, embraced thee with anguishAs thou droop’d in the sun’s scorching rays.
6. But alas thou hast fled from this garden of flowers,To the garden of God far on high;Which thou left for a moment, to bloom in a bowerOn earth,—then to wither and die.
7. May the stalk that produced thee, still bloom in this bower,Till thou shalt descend from the sky,With Jesus who vanquished the power that destroyed thee,And crowns thee with fulness of joy.