WEEDS.

A weed was in my garden growing; I nurtured it with tender care, It grew to be a flower of beauty With col’ring rich and fragrance rare. It only needed love, and culture To bring out beauty from its heart; It ever had been timid, shrinking, But now it proudly took a part With other flowers whose birth was higher. Though coming up from out the sod It gave to all sweet ministration, It was a thought, a part of God. Now if a little weed so humble, A higher place in life could gain By care, and love, and sweet attention, Why not a human weed attain Conditions better, and by struggling, Arise from out its low estate? But it needs help and cultivation To rise above its seeming fate. It needs but pruning, needs but watching. From human weed ’twill rise to be A flower of love, with soul of beauty; It needs though, love and sympathy. Though but a weed in Life’s bright garden, It is not crushed by th’ heel of Fate. It only needs a new awakening To enter Life’s bright golden gate. Then give at least as much attention To human weed as garden flower, And thus you will enrich creation, And God will blessings on you shower.