O Mystic Rose, in God’s fair garden growing,
O Mystic Rose, in Heaven’s high courtyard blowing—
Make sweet, make sweet the pathway I am going.
O Mystic Rose!
The darkling, deathward way that I am going.
O Mystic Rose!

O Rose, more white than snow-wreath in December,
O Rose, more red than sunset’s dying ember,
My sins forget, my penitence remember,
O Mystic Rose!
Though all should fail, I pray that thou remember,
O Mystic Rose!

O Mystic Rose, the moments fly with fleetness,
To Judgement I, with all my incompleteness—
But thou, make impression by thy sweetness,
O Mystic Rose!
Be near to soothe and save me by thy sweetness,
O Mystic Rose!

By Denis A. McCarthy