There is a tree, whose boughs are clad
With foliage that never dies;
Whose fruits perennially thrive,
And whose tall top salutes the skies.
There is a flower of loveliest hues,
No mildews blast its changeless bloom;
It smiles at the rude tempest's wrath,
And breathes a still more sweet perfume.
There is a star, whose constant rays
Beam brightest in the darkest hour,
And cheer the weary pilgrim's heart,
Though storms around his pathway lower.
That tree, the Tree of Life is called,
That flower blooms on Virtue's stem,
That star, whose rays are never veiled,
Is the bright Star of Bethlehem.