Classic Poem

Thou slender ray of finest gold,
Thridding the dusky sky,
Thou leapest from thy burnished fold,
And, all in morning garments stol'd,
Earth-ward dost fly.

Thou toilest through the live-long day,
Feeding the hungry flowers,
Our little lids we open lay,
Our little lips we close to say —
" All thine is ours. "

For fast within thy heart are braided
By the dear Father's hand
The seven-fold colors softly shaded,
That melting blend, pure and unfaded,
Thoughout the land.

And, while thou tendest us with care,
We ever strive to win,
Of all thy hues, some little share,
Or choosing one that seems most fair,
Stand clothed therein.

Our sister violet lowly crowned —
She stealeth but one hue,
She lieth hidden on the ground
And hath more need to spread around
Her sky of blue.

Within her heart-shaped leaves, the rose
Garners thy nectar up,
And when thou biddest her unclose,
Red morning clouds spread forth their shows.
Within her cup.

To thousand little flowers that spring
Amid the grass so green,
Rich yellow raiment thou dost bring,
That they within the grass may fling
A sunny sheen.

But the great lily, high apart,
Loves all thy colors bright,
And weaves them in with thine own art,
Until her patient, glorious heart
Stands rob'd in white.

O ray, the Sun, thy burnished fold,
Moveth adown the steep,
Farewell, now spread the shadows cold,
Forth from the eastern sky unroll'd,
And we must sleep.