The Marygold

          Long years ago, ere faith and love
          Had left our land to sin and shame,
          Her children called my blossoms bright
          By their sweet Mother's gentle name.
          And when amid the leaflets green
          They saw sweet "Mary-buds" unfold.
          In honour of the Angels' Queen
          They plucked the Royal Marygold.

          I was the favourite of the poor,
          And bloomed by every cottage door.
          Speaking of Heaven's Fair Queen to men.
          They loved me for the name I bore.
          There is no love for Marye now,
          And faith died out when love grew cold.
          Men seldom raised their hearts to Heav'n
          Though looking at the Marygold.

          But Marye from her throne on high
          Still looks on England and on me:
          The namesake of the Queen am I,
          The Ladye of the Land is she.
          And surely she must win once more
          Her heritage to Christ's True Fold:
          Then to her children, as of yore,
          Will preach again the Marygold.

(Legends of Our Ladye and the Saints, London. (1870)

Reprinted with Permission