THE SLIGHTED GIFT.
I had a little fresh blown Rose, One bud beside it grew,The pale Syringa with it twined, A sweetened fragrance threw.
A sprig of myrtle I had culled To grace the small boquet,Then gently tied a ribbon round, As I pursued my way.
I met a friend and offered her These gems from nature's breast,She took them with a heartless smile, A moment them caressed.
I saw my gift was lightly prized, And trembled for its fate;She coldly twirled them in her hand, My fears did not abate.
—One moment more—the nosegay lay Despoiled upon the ground;My cherished flowers were torn apart, Their leaves all strewn around.
Oh, if not for the giver's sake The offering thou didst prize,Say, could it have no stronger claim Upon thy heart, thine eyes?
Who formed the little flowers I gave, And called them into birth,Investing them with fragrancy, Was it some hand on earth?
Oh, no, thy Maker's sacred power, My humble offering wrought,And love for thy Creator's works More reverence should have taught.
I never gaze upon a flower, The smallest that I see,But seems to whisper to my heart I came from Deity.