A Song of the Rosy Cross

He who measures gain and loss, When he gave to thee the Rose, Gave to me alone the Cross; Where the blood-red blossom blows In a wood of dew and moss, There thy wandering pathway goes, Mine where waters brood and toss; Yet one joy have I, hid close, He who measures gain and loss, When he gave to thee the Rose, Gave to me alone the Cross.