King Jesus hath a garden, full of divers flowers,
Where I go culling posies gay, all times and hours.
There naught is heard but Paradise bird,
Harp, dulcimer, lute,
With cymbal, trump and tymbal,
And the tender, soothing flute.
The Lily white in blossom there, is Chastity;
The violet, with sweet perfume, Humility.
There naught is heard, &c.
The Crown Imperial bloometh too in yonder place,
’Tis Charity, of stock divine, the flower of grace.
There naught is heard, &c.
Yet, ’mid the brave, the bravest prize of all may claim
The Star of Bethlem–Jesus–blessed be his Name!
There naught is heard, &c.
Ah! Jesu Lord, my heal and weal, my bliss complete,
Make thou my heart thy garden-plot, fair, trim and neat.
That I may hear this music clear:
Harp, dulcimer, lute,
With cymbal, trump and tymbal,
And the tender, soothing flute.
