Violets in purple mourning
Bloomed as flakes of driven snow,
Calvarys rugged path adorning
Ere the Saviour knew its woe.

When the Virgin Mother, holy,
In her bitter anguish passed,
O'er the blossoms white and lowly,
Was her sacred shadow cast;

And the agony of sorrow,
Falling like a purple pall.—
Unforgotten with the morrow—
Still doth linger over all.