Meek offspring of thy parent earth,—
Art thou, sweet bud of native bloom,—
Pure as the lily of some rural glade,
That bursts unnoted from the velvet sod,
Yet sends, from tufted leaves its head that shade,
A tribute of rare odors up to God.
Oh! born to cheer, to comfort, and to bless,
To lend to happiness a deeper charm,
To banish sorrow with thy pure caress,
Holy, and sweet, and innocent, and warm—