He was born a perfect rosebud
A branch from Jesse's tree.
Though angels sang and shepherds came
He was born for you and me.
In "full flower" he was cut down
Only thorns left for his head
Our precious Saviour, crucified
Our "rose of Sharon," dead!
But the grave could not contain him
In triumph he arose.
He will come again, free the world from sin,
And it will "blossom like the rose."
© Paula Kirkpatrick, 2015