1 This day no thorn-crowned cross of pain
Must tell our hearts of Jesus, slain;
We take away the crown adorns.
Now, Sharon's rose the cross adorne.

2 I bring the soft, green leaves that say,
Earth has her resurrection day.
Their fresh, glad hues I now employ,
To wreathe the cross of pain with joy.

3 I bring the Paschall flower that blooms
When Spring's glad Easter morning comes,
The Pasque-flower breathes this low sweet strain,
"All things that die shall live again."

4 My flowers have hue like that sad tide,
That flowed from Jesus' wounded side;
We weep because he died, and then
Rejoice, that he hath risen again.

5 My flowers are white, but purer, far.
Was He, than snowy blossoms are;
Lord make our souls as white as Thine,
That we, above with Thee may shine.

6 My flowers are like the crown of gold,
That the Beloved did behold
Upon the risen brow that wore
The platted crown of thorns, before.

7 My flowers are of the lovely hue
That smiles in heavenly hights of blue,
Where seek the children's longing eyes,
The risen Lord, beyond the skies.

8 Around the cross glad flowers we spread,
For he hath risen from the dead!
He loved the children when below;
He loves them now, in Heaven we know.

9 Dear Lord, the shining angels said,
Seek not the living with the dead:
We wreathe the cross, our hearts we wreathe.
Our hearts, like flowers, sweet incense breathe;
While glad we sing this joyous strain.
He lived, He died, He rose again.