In Cherry Lane the blossoms blow
  In wreaths of white around the trees,
And spread their petals wide, as though
  They longed for nectar-seeking bees.

O'erhead, the arching boughs that spring
  From pillar trunks look down and smile
On lowly currant shrubs that cling
  Around their feet along the aisle.

In Cherry Lane the sunbeams steal
  Through many a leaf and branch above,
And tender shoots come forth to feel
  The touches of a wondrous love.

And life grows warmer with the hours,
  Unmoved, unchilled by human pang,
Till from the stems now robed in flowers
  The great red drops in clusters hang.

Ah, Mother mine! white blossoms came
  And filled my soul with thoughts of thee,
Who art to those that love thy name
  What honeyed buds are to the bee.

Thou art the floweret white and fair,
  A virgin from thy stainless birth,
The fruitful stem designed to bear
  A Saviour to our sinful earth.