Poems (Brown)/The Violet

by Carrie L. Brown

POEMS.

THE VIOLET. 

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"Why bloomest here in this lone spot?"
 I asked a Violet fair:
'Twas growing in a shady dell,
 And breathing heaven's pure air.

"Why rear thy little tender head
 In this cold world of ours?
Sure, you should deck the royal crown
 Of the goddess of the flowers.

"No other floweret blooms within
 This lonely, shady dell;
Come, answer this, my angel fair,
 And thou thy secret tell!"

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."

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."

Next morn I sought the lonely dell,
 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!

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."