Sweet Flowerets of the Martyr Band

Sweet flow­er­ets of the mar­tyr band

So ear­ly plucked by cru­el hand;

Like rose­buds by a tem­pest torn

As breaks the light of sum­mer morn.

First vic­tims of­fered for the Lord

Ye lit­tle knew your high re­ward

As

at the very al­tar

gay

With palms and crowns ye seemed to play.

Ah! what av­ailed King Her­od’s wrath?

He could not stay your Sav­ior’s path;

The Child he sought alone went free;

That Child is King eter­nal­ly.

O Lord

the vir­gin born

to Thee

Praise

hon­or

might and glo­ry be

Whom with the Fa­ther we ad­ore

And Holy Ghost for­ev­er­more.