
The angel of the roses,
As one supposes,
Walks in beauty and light.
In misty mornings, evening, starry night.
She turns their budding faces toward the sky,
One might imagine, the rose would ask why.
And the angel of the rose, she might explain.
That to grow, they need sunshine and rain.
Winds sway through them, rocking cradling,
Both rose bushes and trees.
And birds are happy to rest there, nest there,
And even be blessed there, sweet honey bees.
Among both flowers and thorns.
And whatever God said to the rose,
To make it laugh and burst into bloom,
He must have whispered to my poor heart,
A hundred or thousand times,
As I opened its door, to give Him more room.
Countless times, He spoke His peace and love,
Like the wooing and cooing of a dove.
I have always loved roses,
Never mind the thorns,
At my side is the savior I adore.
And His fragrance is like the rose,
And I love Him all the more,
You see the angel of roses,
Came and turned my face to the sky,
And Jesus does, caressing a cheek,
No matter how dark the day, or how bleak.
I choke back tears, can hardly speak,
Much less ask Him why…..I know the answer.
He came to die.
The loving Lord desired a garden of roses in bloom,
May the angel of roses, pass by in His Spirit.
He speaks peace and love, do you hear it.
Refreshing and divine, a love that is now mine,
Hear it and make room,
And the Lord will watch as the angel of roses,
Brings your rain and sun, and you begin to bloom.
And if roses are beautiful and they are,
What of me or you?
He is true beauty, so what will we be?
Open your heart like a rose, the Son sets us free.
Rebecca Jones