Various

A Primrose awoke from its long winter sleep,

And stretched out its head through its green leaves to peep;

But the air was so cold, and the wind was so keen,

And not a bright flower but itself to be seen.

‘Alas!’ sighed the Primrose, ‘how useless am I,

As here all alone and half hidden I lie;

But I’ll strive to be cheerful, contented to be,

Just a simple wild flower growing under a tree.’

Soon a maiden passed by, looking weary and sad,

In the bright early spring-time, when all should be glad,

But she spied the sweet Primrose so bright and so gay,

And the sight of it charmed all her sadness away;

And the Primrose gave thanks to the dear Lord above,

Who had sent it on such a sweet mission of love.

Catharine Davidson.

Printed and Published by W. & R. Chambers, 47 Paternoster Row, London, and 339 High Street, Edinburgh.

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