| |
III. A PIECE of gold had left my purse, | |
| Which I had guarded ill; | |
| I feared a lack, but feared yet worse | |
| Regret returning still. | |
| |
| I lifted up my feeble prayer | 5 |
| To Him who maketh strong, | |
| That thence no haunting thoughts of care | |
| Might do my spirit wrong. | |
| |
| And even before my body slept, | |
| Such visions fair I had, | 10 |
| That seldom soul with chamber swept | |
| Was more serenely glad. | |
| |
| No white-robed angel floated by | |
| On slow, reposing wings; | |
| I only saw, with inward eye, | 15 |
| Some very common things. | |
| |
| First rose the scarlet pimpernel | |
| With burning purple heart; | |
| I saw within it, and could spell | |
| The lesson of its art. | 20 |
| |
| Then came the primrose, childlike flower, | |
| And looked me in the face; | |
| It bore a message full of power, | |
| And confidence, and grace. | |
| |
| And breezes rose on pastures trim | 25 |
| And bathed me all about; | |
| Wool-muffled sheep-bells babbled dim, | |
| Or only half spoke out. | |
| |
| Sudden it closed, some door of heaven, | |
| But what came out remained; | 30 |
| The poorest man my loss had given | |
| For that which I had gained! | |
| |
| Thou gav’st me, Lord, a brimming cup | |
| Where I bemoaned a sip; | |
| How easily Thou didst make up | 35 |
| For what my fault let slip! | |
| |
| What said the flowers? what message new | |
| Embalmed my soul with rest? | |
| I scarce can tell—only they grew | |
| Right out of God’s own breast. | 40 |
| |
| They said, to every flower He made, | |
| God’s thought was root and stem— | |
| Perhaps said what the lilies said | |
| When Jesus looked at them. | |
| |
