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Love is the sweetest bud

Love is the sweetest bud that blows,
Its beauty never dies;
On earth among the saints it grows,
And ripens in the skies.

Pure, glowing red, and spotless white.
Its perfect colors are;
In Jesus all its sweets unite
And look divinely fair.

The finest flower that ever blowed
Opened on Calv'ry's tree
When Jesus' blood in rivers flowed
For love of worthless me.

Its deepest hue, its richest smell,
No mortal sense can bear;
Nor can the tongue of angels tell
How bright the colors are.

Earth could not hold so rich a flower,
Nor half its beauties show;
Nor could the world and Satan's power
Confine its sweets below.

On heaven's bank supremely fair
This flower of wonder blooms--
Transplanted to its native air--
And all the shore perfumes.

But not to heaven's shore confined;
The seeds from which it grows,
Take root within the human mind,
And scent the church below.

And soon on yonder banks above
Shall every blossom here
Appear a full ripe flower of love.
Like him transplanted there.


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