 | Lines in Pleasant Places |  |
190
TRUST.
On the chilly morn of an April day,In their beds the small plants shivering lay,
The biting wind from the northern hills
Filled their tender forms with ague chills,
And they scarcely dared unfold their eyes,
Though the season said 'twas time to rise.
At length, though purpling with the cold,
A Crocus peeped from beneath the mould,
And waked a Narcissus, sleeping near,
By shaking icicles in its ear.
“Say,” said the Crocus, “shall we start?”
Narcissus said feebly, “I haven't the heart,
And, should this cold much longer hap,
I shall extend my winter nap.”
A Hyacinth, hearing the sound, awoke,
And thus with a chattering accent spoke:
“Let us lie in our beds, since Nature forgets,
And comfort ourselves with our coverlets,
I for one will never get up
While the air is so cold; it will freeze my cup.”
A little Anemone trembling lay,
Thinking of what it heard them say.
191
And sharply the tender buds doth pierce,
But let us be up with cheerful trust,
And shake from our eyes obscuring dust,
That keeps us from seeing good in store
In our present moody feelings sore—
For release will come, and the gentle rain
And the golden sun will cheer again;
Although withholden, have no fear,
The glory of spring will soon be here.
Then let us shoot our pistils all,
Nor wait to receive a second call.”
The faith of the little Anemone
Quickened the floral family,
And 'twere a wonder if spring's gay bowers
Were not all bright with buds and flowers.
How often will raise us from the dust
One little word of hope and trust!
| Lines in Pleasant Places | |