When Jesus Christ was yet a child He had a garden small and wild Where-in he cherished roses fair And wove them into garlands there Now as the summertime drew nigh There came a troop of children by And seeing roses on the tree With shouts they plucked them merrily "Do you bind roses in your hair?"
They cried in scorn to Jesus there The boy said humbly "Take I pray All but the na-ked thorns away" Then of the thorns they made a crown And with rough fingers pressed it down Till on his forehead fair and young Red drops of blood like roses sprung