When Jesus Christ was yet a child,
He had a garden small and wild,
Wherein he cherished roses fair,
And wove them into garlands there.
Now once as summertime drew nigh,
There came a troop of children by,
And seeing roses on the tree
With shouts they plucked them merrily.
"Do you bind roses in your hair?"
They cried in scorn to Jesus there.
The boy said humbly "Take I pray
All but the naked thorns away."
Then of the thorns they made a crown,
And with rough fingers pressed it down
Till on his forehead fair and young
Red drops of blood like roses sprung.
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