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watched a rosebud very longBrought on by dew and sun and shower,Waiting to see the perfect flower:Then, when I thought it should be strong,It opened at the matin hourAnd fell at even-song. I watched a nest from day to day,A green nest full of pleasant shade,Wherein three speckled eggs were laid:But when they should have hatched in May,The two old birds had grown afraidOr tired, and flew away. Then in my wrath I broke the boughThat I had tended so with care,Hoping its scent should fill the air;I crushed the eggs, not heeding howTheir ancient promise had been fair:I would have vengeance now. But the dead branch spoke from the sod,And the eggs answered me again:Because we failed dost thou complain?Is thy wrath just? And what if God,Who waiteth for thy fruits in vain,Should also take the rod? "CONSIDER THE LILIES OF THE FIELD." Flowers preach to us if we will hear:--The rose saith in the dewy morn,I am most fair;Yet all my loveliness is bornUpon a thorn.The poppy saith amid the corn:Let but my scarlet head appearAnd I am held in scorn;Yet juice of subtle virtue liesWithin my cup of curious dyes.The lilies say: Behold how wePreach without words of purity.The violets whisper from the shadeWhich their own leaves have made:Men scent our fragrance on the air,Yet take no heedOf humble lessons we would read. But not alone the fairest flowers:The merest grassAlong the roadside where we pass,Lichen and moss and sturdy weed,Tell of His love who sends the dew,The rain and sunshine too,To nourish one small seed.
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