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| II. |
 | The Poetical Works of Frances Ridley Havergal |  |
Our Saviour Christ was Born.
Our Saviour Christ was born
That we might have the rose without the thorn;
All through His desert life
He felt the thorns of human sin and strife.
His blessed feet were bare
To every hurting brier; He did not spare
One bleeding footstep on the way
He came to trace for us, until the day
The cruel crown was pressed upon the Brow,
That smiles upon us from His glory now.
That we might have the rose without the thorn;
All through His desert life
He felt the thorns of human sin and strife.
His blessed feet were bare
To every hurting brier; He did not spare
One bleeding footstep on the way
He came to trace for us, until the day
The cruel crown was pressed upon the Brow,
That smiles upon us from His glory now.
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And so He won for us
Sweet, thornless, everlasting flowers thus!
He bids our desert way
Rejoice and blossom as the rose to-day.
There is no hidden thorn
In His good gifts of grace; He would adorn
The lives that now are His alone,
With brightness and with beauty all His own.
Then praise the Lord who came on Christmas Day
To give the rose and take the thorns away.
Sweet, thornless, everlasting flowers thus!
He bids our desert way
Rejoice and blossom as the rose to-day.
There is no hidden thorn
In His good gifts of grace; He would adorn
The lives that now are His alone,
With brightness and with beauty all His own.
Then praise the Lord who came on Christmas Day
To give the rose and take the thorns away.
| The Poetical Works of Frances Ridley Havergal | |