A Song of the Rosy Cross

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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.