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  A Rose Plant In Jericho  

 

At morn I plucked a rose and gave it Thee,
    A rose of joy and happy love and peace,
        A rose with scarce a thorn:
        But in the chillness of a second morn
    My rose bush drooped, and all its gay increase
Was but one thorn that wounded me.

I plucked the thorn and offered it to Thee;
    And for my thorn Thou gavest love and peace,
        Not joy this mortal morn:
        If Thou hast given much treasure for a thorn,
    Wilt thou not give me for my rose increase
Of gladness, and all sweets to me?

My thorny rose, my love and pain, to Thee
    I offer; and I set my heart in peace,
        And rest upon my thorn:
        For verily I think to-morrow morn
    Shall bring me Paradise, my gift's increase,
Yea, give Thy very Self to me.

       - Christina G. Rossetti


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