Classic Poem

Crimson as the rubies, crimson as the roses,
Crimson as the sinking sun,
Singing on his crimsoned bed each saint reposes,
Fought his fight, his battle won;
Till the rosy east the day of days discloses,
All his work, save waiting, done.

Far above the stars, while underneath the daisies,
Resting, for his race is run,
Unto Thee his heart each quiet saint upraises,
God the Father, Spirit, Son;
Unto Thee his heart, unto Thee his praises,
O Lord God, the Three in One.