She has a name--Gertrude Jekyll--and she's born to climb. Climb, lovely rose, climb, toward the sun our God made, to worship your Maker according to your kind, in the simple unfolding of a perfect pink bloom.
Like pilgrims journeyed up to Jerusalem for the feasts, singing as they went, lift your face to the Lord, Who made heaven and earth. Lead buds and blossoms of worshippers in your train, ascending toward He Who is enthroned in the heavens.
We look to the Lord our God, until He is gracious and favorable toward us. Our mouths fill with laughter and our tongues with joyful shouting; even though the grass withers and the flowers fade, we, each humble flower, sing praise to our God while we have our being.
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