Christ, the Lily of the valleys,
Son of God, in meekness clad,
Flow’ring in the soil of sorrows
Consolation of the sad;
Shyly hidden by the wayside
Veiled from unbelieving eyes,
Blooms in unassuming beauty –
Fairest flower of paradise.
Dark this valley of my weeping
Stretched along the pilgrim way,
Broken hopes and wistful longings
Tears by night and fears by day;
Can the lily of the valleys
Flourish in such hostile ground?
Yes, this flower can grow unhindered,
Where none other may be found.
Under thorn and threat’ning bramble,
Near each boulder of despair
There the lily of the valleys
Blossoms in abundance rare.
Let me stoop to pluck a lily,
Wear it ever in my heart
Solaced by its lowly fragrance
Till the night of tears depart.
When I tread that last dark valley
Through the shades of fearsome death,
Wage that final bitter warfare
Ere I yield my faltering breath,
I shall find the Christ of glory
Ever to my heart more dear,
Find the lily of the valleys
Hidden in some crevice there.