With Roses—red Roses,

We'll pelt her with Roses,

And Lilies—white Lilies we'll drop at her feet;

The little Queen's coming,

The people are running—

The people are running to greet and to meet.

Then clash out a welcome,

Let all the bells sound, come,

To give her a welcoming proud and sweet.

How her blue eyes will beam,

And her golden curls gleam,

When the sound of our singing rings down the street.