1 Sweet flow'rets of the martyr band,
Plucked by the tyrant's ruthless hand
Upon the threshold of the morn,
Like rosebuds by a tempest torn;
2 First victims for th'incarnate Lord,
A tender flock to feel the sword;
Beside the altar's ruddy ray,
With palm and crown, you seemed to play.
3 Ah, what availed King Herod's wrath?
He could not stop the Savior's path.
Alone, while others murdered lay,
In safety Christ is borne away.
4 O Lord, the virgin-born, we sing
Eternal praise to you, our King,
Whom with the Father we adore
And Holy Spirit evermore.
Source: Lutheran Worship #188