SWEET flower, sweet flower, where have you been? 

All through the winter you were not seen."


"No, in the winter I always keep 

Covered up snugly and fast asleep."


"Fast asleep! Well, I did not know 

That flowers did anything else but grow. 

At night my mother puts me to bed, 

But where, sweet flower, do you rest your head! "


"I have a mother as well as you; 

In her lap I sleep; yes, indeed I do; 

Wrapt up quite warm from the cold and showers, 

For the earth is mother to all the flowers."


"But how can you tell how long to stay? 

For somebody calls me up each day


"I wake but once throughout the year, 

And the voice of God is the voice hear: 

He bids me leave my quiet rest, 

And he gives the raiment in which I'm drest; 

For although mankind his mercies share, 

He yet vouchsafes for the flowers to care. 

When I get up, I am glad to see 

The kind old friends who welcome me."


"What friends are those;"


"Why, chiefly two,

The honey-bee and the sparkling dew. 

When night sits still with folded wings, 

And hushed is the sound of living things, 

The dear little dewdrop comes to stay 

With me till the early break of day, 

When a sunbeam fetches my friend away. 

The busy bee, with his sober vest 

And cheerful hum, is my frequent guest; 

Sweet food he fancies, and therefore I 

Prepare for him a good supply; 

Well pleased he sees my tempting cup, 

And hastes to drink the nectar up."


"You don't feel lonely, then, sweet flower!"


"Oh, no; I have seldom a lonely hour; 

Bright, beautiful insects around me float, 

And the grasshopper chirps his lively note; 

The innocent lambs about me play, 

And the lark sings merrily day by day. 

A happy and tranquil life I lead; 

I have all I wish for, and all I need; 

Content I am with my lowly lot, 

And the queen on her throne I envy not."


"But surely you, with your modest mien, 

Would not compare yourself to a queen?"


'No, I would not; but He who made 

Each simple flower that decks the glade, 

Has said that a king, whose pomp and glory 

To all read about in ancient story, 

And to whose wisdom all men bow, 

Was not arrayed as I am now."

—S. S. Advocate.