THE SEEDLING

  As a quiet little seedling
    Lay within its darksome bed,
  To itself it fell a-talking,
    And this is what it said: 

  “I am not so very robust,
    But I ’ll do the best I can;”
  And the seedling from that moment
    Its work of life began.

  So it pushed a little leaflet
    Up into the light of day,
  To examine the surroundings
    And show the rest the way.

  The leaflet liked the prospect,
    So it called its brother, Stem;
  Then two other leaflets heard it,
    And quickly followed them.

  To be sure, the haste and hurry
    Made the seedling sweat and pant;
  But almost before it knew it
    It found itself a plant.

  The sunshine poured upon it,
    And the clouds they gave a shower;
  And the little plant kept growing
    Till it found itself a flower.

  Little folks, be like the seedling,
    Always do the best you can;
  Every child must share life’s labor
    Just as well as every man.

  And the sun and showers will help you
    Through the lonesome, struggling hours,
  Till you raise to light and beauty
    Virtue’s fair, unfading flowers.

PROMISE

  I grew a rose within a garden fair,
  And, tending it with more than loving care,
  I thought how, with the glory of its bloom,
  I should the darkness of my life illume;
  And, watching, ever smiled to see the lusty bud
  Drink freely in the summer sun to tinct its blood.

  My rose began to open, and its hue
  Was sweet to me as to it sun and dew;
  I watched it taking on its ruddy flame
  Until the day of perfect blooming came,
  Then hasted I with smiles to find it blushing red—­
  Too late!  Some thoughtless child had plucked my rose and fled!

FULFILMENT.

  I grew a rose once more to please mine eyes. 
  All things to aid it—­dew, sun, wind, fair skies—­
  Were kindly; and to shield it from despoil,
  I fenced it safely in with grateful toil. 
  No other hand than mine shall pluck this flower, said I,
  And I was jealous of the bee that hovered nigh. 
  It grew for days; I stood hour after hour
  To watch the slow unfolding of the flower,
  And then I did not leave its side at all,
  Lest some mischance my flower should befall. 
  At last, oh joy! the central petals burst apart. 
  It blossomed—­but, alas! a worm was at its heart!

SONG

    My heart to thy heart,
      My hand to thine;
    My lip to thy lips,
      Kisses are wine
  Brewed for the lover in sunshine and shade;
  Let me drink deep, then, my African maid.

    Lily to lily,
      Rose unto rose;
    My love to thy love
      Tenderly grows. 
  Rend not the oak and the ivy in twain,
  Nor the swart maid from her swarthier swain.