May the springtime scent of our fleeting days
Rise not for self, nor earthly praise,
But pour forth only Christ’s sweet fame,
The one true fragrance, ever the same.

Let every bloom that opens wide
Hide no perfume of human pride;
May petals fall, yet leave behind
The aroma of the Crucified.

Like dew that settles soft and still
On tender grass by heaven’s will,
So let our lives distill His grace—
Christ alone, in every place.

No other savor, no other name,
No blended note to share the claim.
Just Jesus—pure, complete, divine—
The only fragrance worth the time.