Mark ye well the blood--red Rose,
Matin hour, her hood unclose,
Ye shall in her blushing face
The weeping dews of midnight trace.
Such the glowing tint of shame
Over Mary's cheek that came;
Like the pale night--dew I ween,
Thy tears, mourning Magdalen,
When gray--amiced dawn in peace
Bade not Mary's vigils cease.

Sweet the rose, and sweet the nard
Grateful Mary's hand prepared,
And, as softest odours breathe
Sanguine leaves from underneath,
From the casket of the flower,--
Think upon that blessed hour--
Think upon the box, that shed
Perfume o'er our Saviour's head,
When the lowly saint adored
And embalmed her living Lord.

Still the Rose hath mystery!
Think upon Gethsemane!
Mark upon the drooping leaf
Beads of dew in orbed relief;
Crimson tint, appearing through,
Stains them with the life--blood's hue;
Think upon Christ's agonies!
Lo! he in the garden lies;
Seraphs view the mystic flood
Of the suffering monarch's blood.

Mark the Ruby, ye shall see
Sign of perfect charity;
As the beryl imaged truth
To the eye of spotless youth,
--That the gem of virtue rare,
Swaying spirits of the air,--
So the pure, with saintly love,
Shall the ruby's power prove;
There the blood of Jesus flows,
Warm with charity it glows.

Yes, ye in the ruby red
See the blood of Jesus shed;
It shall be Faith's optic glass;
--View the scene before you pass,
Scene, where that dread mystery
Closed upon bleak Calvary!
See the stream, the cross it stains,
Bright as from our Saviour's veins.
Think, oh! think that even thus
God hath shed his blood for us!