 | Moral songs |  |
MAKING GARLANDS.
Come out into the meadows green,
Sweet sister, come away;
The fairest wreath that e'er was seen,
I want to make to-day.
Sweet sister, come away;
The fairest wreath that e'er was seen,
I want to make to-day.
The lambs are bleating down the lea,
The sun is shining bright,
The merry birds from every tree
Sing out with all their might.
The sun is shining bright,
The merry birds from every tree
Sing out with all their might.
61
There's not a wild geranium yet,
There's not a rose in blow,
But I can tell you where to get
The violet springing low.
There's not a rose in blow,
But I can tell you where to get
The violet springing low.
I know the sunny bank so gay
With yellow primrose flowers,
The hedges white with blossomed May,
As if with snowy showers.
With yellow primrose flowers,
The hedges white with blossomed May,
As if with snowy showers.
I'll bring you daisies tipped with red,
And golden kingcups too,
The hyacinth with drooping head,
The periwinkle blue.
And golden kingcups too,
The hyacinth with drooping head,
The periwinkle blue.
And as you sort each pretty thing,
And as you sit, and twine,
I'll tell you of a thought they bring,
Sweet little sister mine.
And as you sit, and twine,
I'll tell you of a thought they bring,
Sweet little sister mine.
They grow about each common place,
In every hidden nook;
Where busy man regards them not,
Or has not time to look.
In every hidden nook;
Where busy man regards them not,
Or has not time to look.
Beneath his sight, beyond his touch,
In lowest place they lie;
And no one careth for them much
Perhaps, but you, and I.
In lowest place they lie;
And no one careth for them much
Perhaps, but you, and I.
Yet every little leaf they bear
Is delicately cut;
And fashioned with most curious care,
To open, and to shut.
Is delicately cut;
And fashioned with most curious care,
To open, and to shut.
62
And coloured with a perfect hue,
Though none should mark the stain,—
There's nothing little we can do,
I'm sure, that's done in vain.
Though none should mark the stain,—
There's nothing little we can do,
I'm sure, that's done in vain.
Each common flower that decks the earth,
Grows perfect in its shell,
Each common action has its worth,
And we should do it well.
Grows perfect in its shell,
Each common action has its worth,
And we should do it well.
And not for love of earthly praise,
Since heaven is over all,
And far from public haunts and ways
Fair grows the flow'ret small.
Since heaven is over all,
And far from public haunts and ways
Fair grows the flow'ret small.
Then let us to the meadows roam,
And make our garlands there;
Nor in our works and ways at home,
Forget their moral fair.
And make our garlands there;
Nor in our works and ways at home,
Forget their moral fair.
| Moral songs | |