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Rosemary, lily, lilac tree,
Kind in the dooryards thrive all three,
But kindest of them is rosemary.
When Mary rode to Egypt
Who bore the Christmas King,
Flowers along the wayside
Began their blossoming.
To fill His path with fragrances
The lilac lifted up
Her proud and plumy branches,
The lily spread her cup,
And only the green rosemary,
Born petal-less and mild,
Grieved that it owned no benison
Of sweetness for the Child.
The evening fell in perfume,
In perfume rose the day.
Said Mary, "Out of weariness
We'll make a moments stay."
"Beside this running river,
Here where the willows lean,
I"ll set the Baby sleeping
And wash His garments clean."
But when the clothes were wholesomer,
Where could she hang them all?
"The lily breaks beneath them,
The lilac stands too tall."
So on the trembling rosemary
She laid them one by one,
And strong the rosemary held them
All morning in the sun.
"I thank you, gentle rosemary.
Hence forward you shall bear
Blue clusters for remembrance
Of this blue cloak I wear,
And not your blossoms only,
I give you as reward,
But where His raiment clung to you
Which clad the little Lord,"
"All shall be aromatic,"
Said Mary, "for I bless
Leaf, stem, and flower
That from this hour
Shall smell of holiness."
Rosemary, lily, lilac tree,
Sweet in the doorways thrive all three,
But sweetest of them is rosemary.
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