etter than gifts of gleaming gold,
Or houses made by hands;
More precious than the glowing gems
Men seek in distant lands;
Breathing of love and purity,
Of constant hearts and true;
A bunch of roses, God’s own gift,
All wet with heaven’s dew.
White Cherokee
n angel on her way to heaven,
One perfumed, starlit night,
Remembered one she’d left behind,
And pausing in her flight,
Looked back to earth, and shed a tear
For love left all forlorn.
Behold! Where fell that pearly drop
A pure white rose was born.
