which had been grown from slips of the miraculous thorn and these,
"mindful of our Lord" still keep the sacred birthday and blossom each year
on Christmas Day.



THE BLOOMING OF THE WHITE THORN

EDITH MATILDA THOMAS


God shield ye, comrades of the road!
And while our way we hold,
List while I tell how it first befell
In the wondrous days of old.

* * * * *

From off the sea, the pilgrims came,
With sea-toil wracked and worn;
The air blew keen, and the frost was sheen,
Upon that wintry morn.

Through Glastonbury street went they;
And ever on, and on,
Till they pass the well of the fairy spell,
And the oak of Avalon.

They hear the rustling leaves and few,
That linger on the bough;