IN CHERRY LANE

In Cherry Lane the blossoms blow In wreaths of white around the trees, And spread their petals wide, as though They longed for nectar-seeking bees. O’erhead, the arching boughs that spring From pillar trunks look down and smile On lowly currant shrubs that cling Around their feet along the aisle. In Cherry Lane the sunbeams steal Through many a leaf and branch above, And tender shoots come forth to feel The touches of a wondrous love. And life grows warmer with the hours, Unmoved, unchilled by human pang, Till from the stems now robed in flowers The great red drops in clusters hang. Ah, Mother mine! white blossoms came And filled my soul with thoughts of thee, Who art to those that love thy name What honeyed buds are to the bee. Thou art the floweret white and fair, A virgin from thy stainless birth, The fruitful stem designed to bear A Saviour to our sinful earth.

And when the cherries, ripe and red, Come forth upon the breast of June, They’ll tell me of a heart that bled, By men forgotten all too soon. Ah, precious drops! through future days Preserve my soul from spot or stain, With tender thoughts of love and praise That once were mine in Cherry Lane.