A ROSE PLANT IN JERICHO.

At morn I plucked a rose and gave it Thee,

A rose of joy and happy love and peace,

A rose with scarce a thorn:

But in the chillness of a second morn

My rose bush drooped, and all its gay increase

Was but one thorn that wounded me.

I plucked the thorn and offered it to Thee;

And for my thorn Thou gavest love and peace,

Not joy this mortal morn:

If Thou hast given much treasure for a thorn,

Wilt thou not give me for my rose increase

Of gladness, and all sweets to me?

My thorny rose, my love and pain, to Thee

I offer; and I set my heart in peace,

And rest upon my thorn:

For verily I think to-morrow morn

Shall bring me Paradise, my gift's increase,

Yea, give Thy very Self to me.