  L ittle flower, in meadow bright, With thy raiment sweet and white, Knowest thou who set thee there, Gave to thee a dress so fair, Caused thee from the ground to spring, Such a sweet and tender thing, Sent the rain and sent the sun, Sent the stars when day is done? Little flower, dost thou not know It was God Who made thee grow, Gave to thee thy lovely dress, Such as kings can ne'er possess; Set thee in thy little bed, Gave thee petals, white and red; Sent for thee the dewdrop bright, Shuts thy blossom up at night? Little bird, high in the air, Flying here and everywhere, Dost thou know who made thy wing, Gave thee thy sweet song to sing; Brought thee o'er the ocean track, Guided thee in safety back, Caused thee with the spring to come To thy green and shady home? Little bird, God made thy wing, Gave thee all thy songs to sing; Set thee in the woods and trees, Fanned thy nest with gentle breeze. He it was who brought thee home, Safe across the ocean's foam, To the meadows green and bright, Gave thee songs of sweet delight. |
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