There came a splendid golden sun, 

Across the darkened skies, 

It woke the bondsman from his dream 

As it fell upon his eyes. 

It lit the ways of freedom's path 

Sent forth the singing lark 

And bore a weeping blossom 'pon 

The flowers in the dark. 



They bloomed by country lane and town 

In freedom's fragrant scent, 

Giving heart to a weary folk 

When dark days came and went. 

And grew they strong and beautiful 

Midst fortune cold and stark 

The fairest flowers of their kind 

These roses of the dark. 



The winds of war came sweeping cruel 

The blossom would not cry. 

Oh how it broke the freeman's heart 

To see the first rose die. 

Some soldiers plucked the garden's joy 

And left a burning mark 

Upon the silver petalled bloom 

Now fettered in the dark. 



These flowers weep in dank cold cells 

No sun to light the gloom 

They suffer torture's vilest scorn 

To wither in their bloom. 

But e'er they yield these lovely things 

O hear they freedom's mark 

They are the light to guide the poor 

These flowers in the dark. 



I care not should we freemen die 

To see the garden flower, 

And humble bluebells lift their heads 

To rise in all their power. 

I hold a tear, torn sore in heart, 

'Twere e're a Joan of Arc. 

'Tis each one of these saintly flowers 

Who be in dungeons dark.