Is there a child that loveth not
The little Daisy flower,
That springeth up so lovingly
In sunshine and in shower?

Is there a spot in all the earth,
In field, or hedgeland row,
In meadow, or in garden, where
The Daisy will not grow?

A little lowly flower! and yet
It singeth unto thee
The same sweet song the angels sing
Through all eternity!

Come, little child, in whispers soft,
The happy secret tell;
He loves, He loves me! Jesus loves!
Ah yes! He loves me still!

The Easter angel shows us now
These tokens of His love,
Bright flashes from th’Eternal Sun
Gleams from a world above!

A little while amid the gloom
Of holy Lenten hours,
In vain we watched the tiny buds
And longed for Easter flowers!

Was there a daisy a near the Cross
Through those long hours of woe?
And o’er the fast closed petals did
The blood of Jesus flow?

Alas! what flower could open then?
What mortal bear the sight?
Darkness must gather for a while
Ere bursts the glorious light.

And on the first glad Easter day
Those crimson buds unfold,
Till countless rays are flashing round
Each living orb of gold.

Then pluck it gently, little child,
With tender, loving heed,
And sing thine answer to the song,
The Lord is ris’n indeed!

Sophia Charlotte Saint Streatfield
A Little Garland of the Saints, 1877