A bud the Gar­den­er gave me,
A fair and love­ly child,
He gave it for my keep­ing
To cherish un­de­filed;
It lay up­on my bosom,
It was my joy and pride,
Perhaps it was an id­ol
Which I must be de­nied.

For just as it was op­en­ing,
In glo­ry to the day,
Down came the heav­en­ly Gard­en­er
And took my bud away;
Yet not in wrath He took it—
A smile was on His face,
And ten­der­ly and kind­ly
He bore it from its place.

Fear not, me­thought He whis­pered,
Thy bud shall be re­stored;
I take it but to plant it
In the gar­den of My Lord;
And bade me not to sor­row
As those who hope­less weep,
For He who gave hath tak­en
And He who took can keep.

And night and morn to­ge­ther
By the op­en gate of pray­er,
I’ll go un­to my dar­ling
And sit be­side him there;
I know for me ’twill op­en
Poor sin­ner though I be,
For He who guards and keeps it
Will keep my bud for me.