My heart, the pen of a ready flower, blooms,
Its ink of grace from Christ’s eternal spring,
Each petal scrawls His love in fragrant rooms,
To bid the soul with heavenly anthems sing.

Through golden glades where morning’s radiance streams,
The poet’s verse in radiant hues is cast,
Like dewdrops bright, it sparkles in His beams,
And weaves His truth to hearts that wander fast.

No earthly shade can still this sacred art,
Its roots in Christ, the ever-living Vine,
With fervent zeal, it kindles every heart,
To shine as stars where hope and mercy twine.

O poets pure, your floral heart’s sweet call,
Proclaims His glory, lifting one and all.