Buttercups, bright eyed and bold, hold their chalices of gold to catch the sunshine and the dew.
And the stately lilies stand Fair in the silvery light, Like saintly vestals, pale in prayer; Their pure breath sanctifies the air, As its fragrance fills the night.
No mother who stands upon low ground herself can hope to place her children upon a loftier plane. They may reach it, but it will not be through her.
Around in silent grandeur stood The stately children of the wood; Maple and elm and towering pine Mantled in folds of dark woodbine.
Stars will blossom in the darkness, Violets bloom beneath the snow.
Yet, O thou beautiful rose!
Queen rose so fair and sweet.
What were lover or crown to thee,
without the clay at thy feet?
Grass grows at last above all graves.
April's rare capricious loveliness.
Aspirations pure and high Strength to do and to endure Heir of all the Ages, I Lo! I am no longer poor!
Who soweth good seed shall surely reap; The year grows rich as it groweth old, And life's latest sands are its sands of gold!
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