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Chamomile.
The spring-forsaken blossom,
Drooping its pallid leaves,
Not without purpose grieves;
For hidden in its bosom
Lies the green fruit,—have patience, trust, and truth;
God keeps the sunshine of thy darkened youth.
Drooping its pallid leaves,
Not without purpose grieves;
For hidden in its bosom
Lies the green fruit,—have patience, trust, and truth;
God keeps the sunshine of thy darkened youth.
Sore, bruised, and bleeding
Under the cruel tread,
Let thy pure odors spread,
And up to heaven pleading,
Draw showered forgiveness on the heart of stone,
More pitiful than thine, because far more alone.
Under the cruel tread,
Let thy pure odors spread,
And up to heaven pleading,
Draw showered forgiveness on the heart of stone,
More pitiful than thine, because far more alone.
