T

HE seed set in the garden
Becomes a lovely flower,
It opens in the sunlight
Or twines about the bower;
It beareth tender blossoms,
In beauty it is drest,
And though at last its grace is past,
How many it hath blest!
The tiny little acorn
Becomes an oak at last,
And children swing upon its boughs
When many years are past.
Though now it looks so mighty,
And branches hath so tall,
Ah, yet we know, ere it did grow,
It was an acorn small.
As flowers grow up from tiny seeds,
As oaks from acorns spring,
E'en so from kindly words and deeds
Grows many a lovely thing.
They still the angry passions,
They break the stubborn will,
And earth so sweet, where these do meet,
Becomes yet sweeter still.