Down in a dell a violet
Had bloomed in early spring;
In beauty it was simple,
Yet befitting for a king.
As if by chance I passed that way
And spied this little flower,
And pausing sought to glean some thought
As to its place and power.
I mused, it blossoms here alone,
No companion of its kind,
But wood and dell seemed proud of it,
They shield it from the wind.
The grass for it has made a bed,
The sun a warming ray;
It gathers moisture from the dew.
All nature seemed to say
I have-some portion to fulfill,
Some part which I must do
To aid this tiny flower to grow,
That its duty it might do.
And again what power has it?
A flower that can but bloom,
Whose little life is very short,
Then ready for the tomb.
But power it has, no matter then
How short its life may be.
There are many weary minds made glad,
When the violet they see.
For then they know that spring is here,
The sun, with warming rays
Will gladden earth. Drear winter's gone,
Now come the sunny days.
But hark! I heard a little voice.
I listened yet again.
I heard it plain, surely no mistake,
'Twas the violet speaking then.
Eager I to catch each word,
Bent lower toward the earth,
And this is what it said to me:
fill the home with mirth.
The children all are happy,
When I open wide my eyes,
They smile and guess my mission soon,
I look upward toward the skies.
My mission plain, to gladden hearts
Where'er I chance to be,
And always be contented with
The lot that falls to me."
Here is the lesson which I learned
E'en from that violet blue,
It matters not our place or power,
There is work for each to do.
But if our talent be but small,
Let's use it with our might,
And then though slow' may seem reward
At last all will be right.