Yet we love the lily well,
For its sweet and pleasant smell,
And would rather call it ours
Than many other gayer flowers;
Pretty lilies seem to be
Emblems of humility.
’Tis not beauty that we prize,—
Like a summer flower it dies.
But humility will last,
Fair and sweet, when beauty’s past;
And the Saviour, from above,
Views a humble child with love.
Come, my love, and do not spurn
From a little flower to learn:
Let your temper be as sweet
As the lily at your feet;
Be as gentle, be as mild:
Be a modest, simple child.
The Forget-me-not.
There is a sweet, a lovely flower,
Tinged deep with faith’s unchanging hue,
Pure as the ether in its hour
Of loveliest and serenest blue.
The streamlet’s gentle side it seeks,
The silent fount, the shaded grot;
And sweetly to the heart it speaks—
Forget-me-not, forget-me-not.