The Mission of the Flowers

Just over the way thereWas crape on the door,Looped up with a ribbon of white;And I knew that a dearOne had passed on beforeTo her home in that land of delight.

I knew of the sorrowBereavement imparts,Of grief, when a loved one is gone,And thought of the greatAching void in their hearts,Till my own was in sympathy drawn.

Low down in the valleyOf shadows I knowFriends walked in the deepest of gloom;And often I wonderedIf aught I could doTheir desolate way to illume.

They were strangers to me,And no words could I say,But I thought all at once of my flowers—How often they'd drivenMy sorrow away,And brightened my loneliest hours.

So I gathered the loveliestBlossoms I hadTo send on their mission of love,And wondered if sheCould look down—and be glad—From her beautiful mansion above.

My flowers spoke for me,And touched a heart-chordThat thrilled in responsiveness true;And echoed the joyThat became my rewardThat the "mission of flowers" I knew.