What could we without them,

Those flowers of life?

How bear all the sorrows

With which it is rife?

As long as they blossom,

Whilst brightly they bloom,

Our own griefs are nothing,

Forgotten our gloom.

We joy in the sunshine,—

It sheds on them light;

We welcome the shower,—

It makes them more bright;

On our pathway of thorns

They are thrown from above,

And they twine round about us,

And bless us with love.

Bright, beautiful flowers,

So fresh and so pure!

How could we, without them,

Life’s troubles endure?

So guileless and holy,

Such soothers of strife;

What could we without them,

Sweet flowers of life?