THE CHILDREN OF THE SUN.

A sunflower tall, by the garden wall, Scornfully nodded his head To a brilliant poppy, whose cheeks below Were all aflame with a crimson glow. “I am the child of the sun,” he smiled; “His color is mine, you see, While you are drinking his warm rays in, You never once try his tints to win.” But the poppy gay, still blushing away (And laughing a little too), Quietly answered, “The sun has told Me to be red and you to be gold. “The morning’s hush and the poppy’s blush Are dear to the heart of day As the noontide hour, with its triumphs won, And the flower that rivals the glowing sun. “Heaven is large, and its chiefest charge Is that life shall be broad and free, And it bids the children of sun and storm Ne’er to a single type conform.” The sunflower wise looked down in surprise At the bold little flower below, But he learned a lesson there and then That needs to be learned by many men.