The milk-white blossoms of the thorn 
Are waving o’er the pool, 
Moved by the wind that breathes along 
So sweetly and so cool. 
The hawthorn clusters bloom above, 
The primrose hides below, 
And on the lonely passer by 
A modest glance doth throw! 
The humble primrose’s bonnie face 
I meet it everywhere; 
Where other flowers disdain to bloom, 
It comes and nestles there. 
Like God’s own light, on every place 
In glory it doth fall: 
And where its dwelling-place is made, 
It straightway hallows all! 
Where’er the green-winged linnet sings 
The primrose bloometh lone; 
