Page:Poems Brown.djvu/16

The Violet raised her lowly head,
 And bent her cup of blue,
And the light winds fanned her gentle form,
 And bathed its petals with dew.

"My Maker placed me here," she said,
 "In this fairy-haunted spot;
And though no other flower blooms near,
 I know I'm not forgot.

"I am a little tender thing,
 And I am frail and small,
And though I bloom by man unseen,
 God watcheth over all."

"This is a blessed thought," I cried;
 "Teach me like thee to live;
Teach me, O modest Violet,
 My daily thanks to give."

She raised her lovely, humble head:
 "De good! be patient! ever,
For God will hear thy weakest cry,
 And help thy poor endeavor."