THE AWAKENING OF THE LILIES.
Beneath the placid watersA lily bulb had birth;It slept in sweet relianceIn arms of mother earth.In home beneath the waters,It slept in calm repose;With sweetness of the lily,And beauty of the rose.One morn the Sun looked downward,And loving words he spake.The lily bulb awakenedFrom dreams, beneath the lake.A little bud shot upwardTo meet the sun-god’s call,It sent forth all its fragranceIts lover to enthrall.It sprang from out the waters,And donned its pure white gown.No sin defiled its beauty,Its virtue was its crown.The little bud then blossomed,—So fragrant, pure and sweet,The air was filled with fragrance,And many stopped to greetThe pure white lily blossomThat on the water lay;A ruthless hand then plucked it,But threw it soon away.—It faded, and then withered;The earth was not its home;It missed the sparkling water,Nor wished from it to roamUpon life’s turbid watersA human flower was born.As pure as water-lily,With beauty of the dawn.’Twas in a vine-clad cottageClose by the lily’s home;Where dwelt this pure young maiden,Nor wished she e’er to roam.To her there came a lover—But soon he cast asideThe crushed and faded blossomWho was his promised bride.In lone, and dreary hovelA weeping woman lay.No loving hand to tend her,And naught but shadows gray.—She sinned in loving, trusting,And what was her reward?Dishonored, and forsaken,No friend had she but God.And in this lonely hovelA little child was born.—A little human lilyFirst saw the light of dawn.Unheralded its coming,Unwelcome was its birth.This little human lilyWas born from out the earth.It came without love’s greeting,Its death caused not one tear;’Twas born into conditionsThat cost its mother dear.—This child was pure and holy,Though it was born of sin.—Its heavenly father loved it,So took it from the dinOf earthly cares and sorrows.He took the mother too.The child is with her sleeping,No tears their grave bedew.Together in one coffinThe human lilies lie;Dishonored, and forsaken,They blossomed but to die.They lie upon the hillside.—Some pitying hand now gaveA pure, white lily blossom,To deck the outcasts’ grave.
Beneath the placid watersA lily bulb had birth;It slept in sweet relianceIn arms of mother earth.In home beneath the waters,It slept in calm repose;With sweetness of the lily,And beauty of the rose.One morn the Sun looked downward,And loving words he spake.The lily bulb awakenedFrom dreams, beneath the lake.A little bud shot upwardTo meet the sun-god’s call,It sent forth all its fragranceIts lover to enthrall.It sprang from out the waters,And donned its pure white gown.No sin defiled its beauty,Its virtue was its crown.The little bud then blossomed,—So fragrant, pure and sweet,The air was filled with fragrance,And many stopped to greetThe pure white lily blossomThat on the water lay;A ruthless hand then plucked it,But threw it soon away.—It faded, and then withered;The earth was not its home;It missed the sparkling water,Nor wished from it to roam
Upon life’s turbid watersA human flower was born.As pure as water-lily,With beauty of the dawn.’Twas in a vine-clad cottageClose by the lily’s home;Where dwelt this pure young maiden,Nor wished she e’er to roam.To her there came a lover—But soon he cast asideThe crushed and faded blossomWho was his promised bride.
In lone, and dreary hovelA weeping woman lay.No loving hand to tend her,And naught but shadows gray.—She sinned in loving, trusting,And what was her reward?Dishonored, and forsaken,No friend had she but God.And in this lonely hovelA little child was born.—A little human lilyFirst saw the light of dawn.Unheralded its coming,Unwelcome was its birth.This little human lilyWas born from out the earth.It came without love’s greeting,Its death caused not one tear;’Twas born into conditionsThat cost its mother dear.—This child was pure and holy,Though it was born of sin.—Its heavenly father loved it,So took it from the dinOf earthly cares and sorrows.He took the mother too.The child is with her sleeping,No tears their grave bedew.Together in one coffinThe human lilies lie;Dishonored, and forsaken,They blossomed but to die.They lie upon the hillside.—Some pitying hand now gaveA pure, white lily blossom,To deck the outcasts’ grave.