THICK green leaves from the soft brown earth, 

Happy springtime hath called them forth; 

First faint promise of summer bloom, 

Breathes from the fragrant, sweet perfume, 

Under the leaves. 

Lift them! What marvelous beauty lies 

Hidden beneath, from our thoughtless eyes! 

Mayflowers, rosy or purest white, 

Lift their cups to the sudden light, 

Under the leaves. 

Are there no lives whose holy deeds—

Seen by no eye save His who reads 

Motive and action—in silence grow 

Into rare beauty, and bud and blow, 

Under the leaves? 

Fair white flowers of faith and trust, 

Springing from spirits bruised and crushed; 

Blossoms of love, rose-tinted and bright, 

Touched and painted with heaven's own light, 

Under the leaves— 

Full fresh clusters of duty born, 

Fairest of all in that shadow grown; 

Wondrous the fragrance that sweet and rare 

Comes from the flower-cups hidden there, 

Under the leaves. 

Though unseen by our vision dim, 

Bud and blossom are known to Him. 

Wait we content for his heavenly ray— 

Wait till our Master himself one day 

Lifteth the leaves.