 | Carmina crucis |  |
44
L'ENVOI.
My root of life is in Thy grave,
This flower that blooms above
I have no care to keep or save,
Its hues are dim, its stay is brief,
I know not if its name be grief,
Oh! let it pass for Love.
This flower that blooms above
I have no care to keep or save,
Its hues are dim, its stay is brief,
I know not if its name be grief,
Oh! let it pass for Love.
Oh! let it pass for Love, dear Lord,
And lift it from Thy tomb,
A little while upon Thy breast
To yield its scent and bloom;
In life, in dying to be blest
It needs but little room!
And lift it from Thy tomb,
A little while upon Thy breast
To yield its scent and bloom;
In life, in dying to be blest
It needs but little room!
| Carmina crucis | |