 | Moral songs |  |
39
THE FLOWER IN THE CITY.
I saw a window dim, and tall,
Far down a city lane,
Full seldom could the sunbeam fall,
Against the dingy pane.
Far down a city lane,
Full seldom could the sunbeam fall,
Against the dingy pane.
Yet mindful of things green, and sweet,
Some hopeful hand had set,
Upon that dirty window seat,
A box of mignionette.
Some hopeful hand had set,
Upon that dirty window seat,
A box of mignionette.
The paint had fallen from the wood,
That bound the narrow ledge,
The sooty sparrows came, and stood,
And twittered on its edge.
That bound the narrow ledge,
The sooty sparrows came, and stood,
And twittered on its edge.
The crumbling earth lay hard, and bare
Around the ragged roots,
The little flowers showed dull, and rare
Amid the stunted shoots.
Around the ragged roots,
The little flowers showed dull, and rare
Amid the stunted shoots.
But when the sash was upward thrown,
Mid all the dirt, and gloom,
A gentle fragrance all their own
Passed to the inner room.
Mid all the dirt, and gloom,
A gentle fragrance all their own
Passed to the inner room.
The weary woman stayed her task,
The perfume to inhale;
The pale-faced children paused to ask,
What breath was on the gale.
The perfume to inhale;
The pale-faced children paused to ask,
What breath was on the gale.
And none that breathed that sweetened air,
But had a gentle thought,
A gleam of something good, and fair,
Across his spirit brought.
But had a gentle thought,
40
Across his spirit brought.
So deeds of love will cheer, and bless,
A low laborious life;
So words of peace and gentleness,
Glide in and soften strife.
A low laborious life;
So words of peace and gentleness,
Glide in and soften strife.
So prayers in crowded moments given,
Of tumult, toil, or woe,
Will sweeten with a breath from heaven,
Our weary path below.
Of tumult, toil, or woe,
Will sweeten with a breath from heaven,
Our weary path below.
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