Roses of Memory

ANNIE S. PEEL

Love gave us memory,
That roses fair might in December bloom,
With fragrance rare.

When life seems drear, and chilled
By winter's snow, in thought I turn to where
My roses blow;

In mem'ry's garden fair,
By sunbeams kissed, dark error disappears
Like morning mist.

With joyous feet I walk
Through sunny bowers, and view with pure delight
My fragrant flowers.

For in their dewy depths
God's smile I see; in every petal, trace
His love for me.

Oft had I used the gift
Of memory to think of things which should
Forgotten be.

But now, o'er bygone ills
No more I brood, since Truth revealed to me
That God is good.

The dreams of sense no more
Recur to me; for evil has no past,
No entity.

God, good, is everywhere;
He fills all space; so naught can evil claim
Of power or place.

Gone are the thorns and briars;
And in their room, within my garden fair,
Sweet roses bloom—

Roses of memory,
The emblems fair of God's eternal love
And tender care.

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