Hymn for Flower Sunday

God, whose earth is touched with beauty,
Christ, who praised the lilies gay,
Sweet the service, fair the duty,
That we offer here to-day.

From the highways and the hedges
We have brought Thee cups of gold,
Daisies white with crimson edges,
That the children love to hold.

And the blossoms treasured greatly,
Borne from lands beyond the sea,
And rare flowers from gardens stately —
All for them, and all for Thee.

Since no love-gift ere is given
To Thy little ones in vain,
These shall lie, like stars from Heaven,
On their narrow beds of pain.

They shall light the dreary spaces,
Bring a fragrance, give a glow
To the children's weary faces,
That can never see them grow.

"Rose of Sharon, lily fairest,"
Sang of Thee, the minstrel king;
For all tender thought Thou carest,
Every bright and helpful thing.

In the highways Thou hast sought them,
From the hedges plucked Thy flowers;
Precious souls! Thy blood has bought them,
Souls of theirs, and souls of ours.

Glad we bring our gifts, and leave them
For the sick child's lingering touch;
God regard them! Christ receive them!
Thou, not we, hast loved much.