poems.
11
As homeward, then, my steps I bent,
The tears would slowly fall;
But in my heart the words still rang,
"He hears the weakest call."
The tears would slowly fall;
But in my heart the words still rang,
"He hears the weakest call."
Next morn I sought the lonely dell,
To cull the floweret fair;
I looked around, but all in vain;
The Violet was not there.
To cull the floweret fair;
I looked around, but all in vain;
The Violet was not there.
At last I found the blossom pure,
With drooping, withered head;
I spoke, but no sweet answer came:
The Violetit was dead!
With drooping, withered head;
I spoke, but no sweet answer came:
The Violetit was dead!
The winds of heaven had roughly blown.
That flower so frail and small,
But those sweet words came back to me,
"God watcheth over all."
That flower so frail and small,
But those sweet words came back to me,
"God watcheth over all."
