 | ["Consider the lilies", in] The lily of the valley, for 1856 |  |
“CONSIDER THE LILIES.”
Oh, Garden Lily fair,
Like dame of high degree,
Who never 'neath the bronzing sun
With taming toil hath wrought or spun,
Beauty and grace to thee!
Thou speakest of His care,
Who in our mortal path doth strew alway
Bright, loving things with sweet control
To shape and fit the pilgrim soul
For perfect day.
Like dame of high degree,
Who never 'neath the bronzing sun
With taming toil hath wrought or spun,
Beauty and grace to thee!
Thou speakest of His care,
Who in our mortal path doth strew alway
Bright, loving things with sweet control
To shape and fit the pilgrim soul
For perfect day.
Meek Lily of the Vale,
Hiding behind a veil of green
Thy petals pale,—
In vain!—a tide of fragrance shows
Thy shaded cell,
And the young child undoubting knows
Where thou dost dwell.
Hiding behind a veil of green
Thy petals pale,—
In vain!—a tide of fragrance shows
Thy shaded cell,
And the young child undoubting knows
Where thou dost dwell.
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The queenly dahlia towers
High with her gorgeous flowers,
Yet is thy lowly lot approved,
Humility serene
By Heaven and Earth is loved.
High with her gorgeous flowers,
Yet is thy lowly lot approved,
Humility serene
By Heaven and Earth is loved.
Cold Lily of the Lake!—Who called thee forth
From the incumbent waters? Who maintained
Life in thy slender root, while icy Winter reigned?
Who brought to hopeful birth
The marvel of thy floating cup?
Hast thou a solace, in thy night of grief,
Save troubled waters, and thine own chill leaf?
Yet there thou dwell'st in sanctity divine,
Lifting thine incense up, 'mid Nature's temple shrine;
Pale Levite among flowers,—
No heritage hast thou, no cultured bowers,
No curtained tent to shield thy stainless breast,—
Still doth the Almighty Father hold thee up,
And give thee rest.
From the incumbent waters? Who maintained
Life in thy slender root, while icy Winter reigned?
Who brought to hopeful birth
The marvel of thy floating cup?
Hast thou a solace, in thy night of grief,
Save troubled waters, and thine own chill leaf?
Yet there thou dwell'st in sanctity divine,
Lifting thine incense up, 'mid Nature's temple shrine;
Pale Levite among flowers,—
No heritage hast thou, no cultured bowers,
No curtained tent to shield thy stainless breast,—
Still doth the Almighty Father hold thee up,
And give thee rest.
Oh, Lily of the Field!—
Hide not thy speckled breast
Nor be ashamed to stand
Amid the queenly of the land,
So elegantly dressed;—
The bee admireth thee:
Say,—doth he warmly pour
A buzzing strain of flattery in thine ear,
Hide not thy speckled breast
Nor be ashamed to stand
Amid the queenly of the land,
So elegantly dressed;—
The bee admireth thee:
Say,—doth he warmly pour
A buzzing strain of flattery in thine ear,
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And for his wooing pay himself too free,
By rifling all thy store?
The butterfly in golden vest
Flaunting doth visit thee,
Brief child of vanity,
By summer's smile carressed.
Man,—full of green-house pride,—
Perchance regards thee not,
Or scorns thy lowly lot,—
But the great Lord and Teacher—He who died
That man might live,—
From thy plain petals, as a text-book, taught.
Great honor was it thus a theme to give
To Him who reads each secret thought,
The Judge of Quick and Dead,—
His glorious eye was bent
Upon thy modest head—
Field Lily!—be content.
By rifling all thy store?
The butterfly in golden vest
Flaunting doth visit thee,
Brief child of vanity,
By summer's smile carressed.
Man,—full of green-house pride,—
Perchance regards thee not,
Or scorns thy lowly lot,—
But the great Lord and Teacher—He who died
That man might live,—
From thy plain petals, as a text-book, taught.
Great honor was it thus a theme to give
To Him who reads each secret thought,
The Judge of Quick and Dead,—
His glorious eye was bent
Upon thy modest head—
Field Lily!—be content.
Hartford, Aug. 1, 1855.
| ["Consider the lilies", in] The lily of the valley, for 1856 | |