I wonder, did these grow in Nazareth,
Around the home where Joseph kept his shop?
And did the gentle Lady walk among
The beds of lilies? Did she often stop
To watch them nodding in the fragrant breeze,
Or give to her small Son
A few of these?
So pure and white, like angel faces turning
Upon a world by sin and sorrow torn,
Like some celestial song that has no ending,
Like mists of peace in the awakening morn...
O God, this beauty, do Thou teach me please,
And make this soul of mine to blossom, too...
May this one small person
Be as these?
