One flower within my garden grows—
My friend's is crowded,
But mine is rarer than the rose,
My skies unclouded.
I shield it when the north winds blow
So harsh across it,
I cannot let them kiss it so,
And rudely toss it.
So beautiful it is and frail,
I almost dread
The butterflies that soar and sail
So near its bed.
I envy not the wealth of flowers
Across the way;
My radiant flower exhales perfume
For me each day.
My gratitude to Heaven for this,
My one late flower;
And such a sense of rapturous bliss
Ascends each hour.
Dear Heaven, still a gift bestow
And grant to me
The grace to train my flower to grow
For Heaven and Thee.
And yet, because I love it so
My heart will fail,
When life's rude tempests 'gin to blow
My blossom frail.
Help me to shield it from the rain—
From winter's blast—
And I will give it back again
To Thee at last.