Mark the forget-me-not by yon brookside.
Its roots the mud, its stem the waters hide;
Its blossoms seek the sky.
So, though thy feet be rooted in earth's slime,
Raise thou thy head above the waves of time —
Look up on high!
See how the blossoms, earthward-bent awhile,
Turn as they ope to meet the sun's bright smile,
And, as they upward gaze,
First flush with pink, then mirror heaven's own blue,
And every flow'ret bears, of sunny hue,
A crown of rays.
O thou whose thoughts are fixed on this world's toys,
Look up to Him from whom are all thy joys.
The beatific sight
Will change thee till the human grow divine,
And at the last upon thy brow shall shine
A crown of light.
