Trifles

Little streamlet, murmurOn thy quiet way,—Down in lowland meadowsKiss the crowfoot gay;Refresh the thirsty cattle,Cool the reaper's brow,—Lave the hazel bushesWhich the ripe nuts bow,—All thy course with humble gifts,Little stream, endow.

Red-lipped, blushing daisy,Pride will pass thee by,—But thy modest sweetnessDraws the thoughtful eye;Cast thy fragrant odorsOn the soft south breeze,Touch the brow of beauty,Scent the clover seas,—Make a feast of honeyFor the toiling bees.

White cloud, sail the azure,'Mid the crystal stars,—Drop thy graceful shadowThrough the amber bars;Gather strength and moisture,Let the rain come downPearly, pure, and heavenly,On the dusty town,—All the drought-parched countryWith the rich flood drown.

Sweet west wind, steal softlyDown the royal heightsIn the drowsy daytime,In the star-bright nights.Waft thy balm of healingOver lonely moors,—In at palace windows,In at cottage doors;Give the toiling millionsHealth from thy full stores.

Soul, with nature humble,Guard thy talent small;Stay thy feet on virtue,Take heed lest they fall.Cheer the sad and weary,—Lend a helping hand,—God loves an earnest workerWho heeds the wise command,To let his light shine broadcastO'er the gracious land.