With Roses—red Roses,
We'll pelt her with Roses,
And Lilies—white Lilies we'll drop at her feet;
The little Queen's coming,
The people are running—
The people are running to greet and to meet.
Then clash out a welcome,
Let all the bells sound, come,
To give her a welcoming proud and sweet.
How her blue eyes will beam,
And her golden curls gleam,
When the sound of our singing rings down the street.