But, when the coming coach-wheels rolled,
To pass his humble cot,
His bunch of lilies to be sold
Was ready on the spot.
He ’d stand beside the way, and hold
His treasures up to show,
That looked like yellow stars of gold
Just set in leaves of snow.
“O buy my lilies!” he would say;
“You ’ll find them new and sweet:
So fresh from out the pond are they,
I have n’t dried my feet!”
And then he showed the dust that clung
Upon his garment’s hem,
Where late the water-drops had hung,
When he had gathered them.
And while the carriage checked its pace,
To take the lilies in,
His artless orphan tongue and face
Some bright return would win.
For many a noble stranger’s hand,
With open purse, was seen,
To cast a coin upon the sand,
Or on the sloping green.
And many a smiling lady threw
The child a silver piece;
And thus, as fast as lilies grew,
He saw his wealth increase.
While little more—and little more,
Was gathered by their sale,
His widowed mother’s frugal store
Would never wholly fail.
For He, who made, and feeds the bird,
Her little children fed.
He knew her trust: her cry he heard;
And answered it with bread.
And thus, protected by the Power,
Who made the lily fair,
Her orphans, like the meadow flower,
Grew up in beauty there.