I had a lovely Rose bud,
Just opening beauteously,
I placed it on my bosom,
And fair it was to see;
My heart was proudly swelling,
When every passer-by
Admired my beauteous flower,
That blossom’d but to die.
Awhile it gaily flourish’d,
Nursed by affection’s dew,
And every passing hour,
More beautiful it grew;
Each tender leaf unfolding,
A brilliant hue display’d;
I thought a brighter flower
Was surely never made.
One day I saw it drooping,
It leaned upon my breast;
With paleness and with trembling,
I saw it sink to rest;
I knew not it was dying,
Though paler still it grew;
I vainly strove to save it,
By all that love could do.
I ask’d each passing zephyr
To breathe upon my flower,
And each reviving sunbeam
To try its sovereign power;
I gave each fond endearment,
I water’d it with tears,
But every moment brought me
More agonizing fears.
“O, must I lose my Rose bud,
The only one I have?
Is there no kind physician,
My precious flower to save?”
But vain was all my praying,
A worm was at the core,
And, leaning on my bosom,
It withered more and more.
At length I heard a whisper,
“O, suffer it to come
To me, the only Savior,
And I will take it home;
There, in my garden blooming,
Are many buds like thine,
In bright celestial beauty,
Sweet flowers! how they shine!”
I raised my tearful eyelids,
And lo! a form of light,
Just like the risen Savior,
Then met my wond’ring sight;
And while I strove to tell him
That he might take it home,
Again I heard him saying,
“O, suffer it to come.”
The glory round him shining
Spread heavenly light afar,
And in each hand extended,
I saw the fatal scar;
There too, I saw, with anguish,
The wound upon his side;
By these sad marks I knew him,
’Twas He—the Crucified!
With sad heartbreaking sorrow,
I kiss’d my faded flower,
A long farewell I gave it,
That well remember’d hour;
One dark and painful struggle
Now rack’d my tortured mind,
And then, with sighs and weeping,
My Rose bud I resign’d.
’Twas folded to his bosom,
And, as he placed it there,
I saw new life returning
Beneath his fost’ring care;
And though I felt so lonely,
And throbb’d my heart with pain,
I dared not, and I wish’d not
To call it back again.
And then the tender Savior
Cast such a look on me,
And said to me so sweetly,
“Fear not, I’ll comfort thee,”
That I in calmness waited
To see them take their flight,
And, in a cloud of glory,
They vanish’d from my sight!
CHARLESTON, December 10, 1840.