O Jesus! O my Love! each eve I come to fling
My springtide roses sweet before Thy Cross divine;
By their plucked petals fair, my hands so gladly bring,
I long to dry Thine every tear!

To scatter flowers!--that means each sacrifice:
My lightest sighs and pains, my heaviest, saddest hours,
My hopes, my joys, my prayers--I will not count the price--
Behold my flowers!

With deep untold delight Thy beauty fills my soul,
Would I might light this love in hearts of all who live!
For this, my fairest flowers, all things in my control,
How fondly, gladly would I give!

To scatter flowers!--behold my chosen sword
For saving sinners' souls and filling Heaven's bowers:
The victory is mine--yea, I disarm Thee, Lord,
With these my flowers!

The petals in their flight caress Thy Holy Face;
They tell Thee that my heart is Thine, and Thine alone.
Thou knowest what these leaves are saying in my place:
On me Thou smilest from Thy Throne.

To scatter flowers!--that means, to speak of Thee--
My only pleasure here, where tears fill all the hours;
But soon, with Angel Hosts, my spirit shall be free
To scatter flowers.

June 28, 1896.