Like a fair lily that in secret blooms.
And gives to heaven its beauty's precious dower,
Like a sweet-scented vïolet that perfumes
Some peaceful, lone and unfrequented bower,
Mild as the moonbeam on the dewy flower
That sheds unseen its pure and silvery ray,
Calm as the day-dream of a golden hour,
Soft as the dawning of a young spring day,
Thy path lies far from the cold worldling's way.
The gentle voice that whispers ne'er in vain,
The hand that heals the wound and soothes the pain—
These are thy weapons in the world's affray;
Be thy reward, then, from the lips Divine,
“Thou what thou couldst has done for Me and Mine.”