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.