The Violet

When April's warmth unlocks the clod,
Soften'd by gentle showers,
The violet pierces through the sod,
And blossoms, first of flowers;
So may I give my heart to God
In childhood's early hours.
Some plants, in gardens only found,
Are raised with pains and care:
God scatters violets all around,
They blossom everywhere;
Thus may my love to all abound,
And all my fragrance share.
Some scentless flowers stand straight and high,
With pride and haughtiness:
But violets perfume land and sky,
Although they promise less.
Let me, with all humility,
Do more than I profess.
Sweet flower, be thou a type to me
Of blameless joy and mirth,
Of widely-scatter'd sympathy,
Embracing all God's earth —
Of early-blooming piety.
And unpretending worth.
T Written for a little girl to speak on May-day, in the
character of the Violet.