The Stranger's Gift

by Jones Very

I found far culled from fragrant field and grove
Each flower that makes our Spring a welcome guest,
In one sweet bond of brotherhood inwove
On osier band their leafy stalks compressed;
A stranger's hand had made their bloom my own,
And fresh their fragrance rest on the air;
His gift was mine—but he who gave unknown,
And my heart sorrowed though the flowers were fair:
Now oft I grieve to meet them on the lawn,
Scattered along the path I love to go,
By One who on their petals paints the dawn,
And gilt with sunset splendors bids them glow,
For I ne'er asked 'who steeps them in perfume?'
Nor anxious sough His love who crowns them all with bloom.