O Martyrs young and fresh as flowers, Your day was in its morning hours When Christ was sought and you were found Like rain-strewn petals on the ground. How weak to hurt you was the king! You are Christ's morning offering, His pretty lambs, his children, gay With martyr-crowns and palms at play. And you had cheated Herod's rage, You little boys of Jesus' age; For he whom Herod sought to slay, Jesus, untouched escaped away. Glory, O Christ the Lord to thee, Child of the blessed Virgin, be, Whom with the Father we adore And Holy Spirit evermore.