Poems (Trask)/Trifles

by Clara Augusta Jones Trask

TRIFLES.

Little streamlet, murmur
 On thy quiet way,—
Down in lowland meadows
 Kiss the crowfoot gay;
Refresh the thirsty cattle,
 Cool the reaper's brow,—
Lave the hazel bushes
 Which 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 sweetness
 Draws the thoughtful eye;
Cast thy fragrant odors
 On the soft south breeze,
Touch the brow of beauty,
 Scent the clover seas,—
Make a feast of honey
 For the toiling bees.

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

Sweet west wind, steal softly
 Down the royal heights
In the drowsy daytime,
 In the star-bright nights.
Waft thy balm of healing
 Over lonely moors,—
In at palace windows,
 In at cottage doors;
Give the toiling millions
 Health 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 worker
 Who heeds the wise command,
To let his light shine broadcast
 O'er the gracious land.