Christ, when a child, a garden made,
And many roses flourished there.
He watered them three times a day
To make a garland for His hair;
And when in time the roses bloomed,
He called the children in to share.
They tore the flowers from every stem,
And left the garden stript and bare.

“How wilt Thou weave Thyself a crown
Now that Thy roses are all dead?”
“Ye have forgotten that the thorns
Are left for me,” the Christ-child said.
They plaited then a crown of thorns,
And laid it rudely on His head,—
A garland for His forehead made;
For roses, drops of blood instead.