A blighted bud may hold
A sweeter message than the loveliest flower.
For God hath kissed her wounded heart
And left a promise there.
A cloak of lies may clothe a golden truth.
The sunlight’s warmth may fade its glossy black
To whitening green and prove the fault
Of weak and shoddy dye.
Oh, why let sorrow steel thy heart?
Thy busom is but its foster mother,