“She loves Me, she loves Me not,” the Savior used to say
As He watched me pluck all the pretty petals of the flower He gave me away.
He wept when, like a foolish flower girl, I tossed His petals down an isle,
Towards those who didn’t cherish me, yet He loved me all the while.
When I looked for my pretty flower, I saw His wilted petals on the ground.
Then they started to come back together by a glorious, redeeming sound.
I heard, “Beloved, come Home to Me; you will be my beautiful Bride;
Radiant one, My lily among thorns, you will be My treasured prize.”