Guisborough

Long year’s ago, ere faith and love
Had left our land to sin and shame,
Her children called my blossoms bright
By their sweet Mother’s gentle name.
And when amid the leaflets green
They saw sweet “Mary-buds” unfold
In honour of the Angel’s Queen
They plucked the Royal Marygold.
I was the favourite of the poor,
And bloomed by every cottage door,
Speaking of Heaven’s Fair Queen to men,
They loved me for the name I bore.
There is no love for Mary now,
And faith died out when love grew cold,
Men seldom raise their hearts to Heaven,
Through looking at the Marygold.
But Mary from her throne on high
Still looks on England and me;
The namesake of the Queen am I,
The Lady of the Land is she.
And surely she must win once more
Her heritage to Christ’s True Fold;
Then to her children, as of yore,
Will preach again the Marygold