Volume 9 — A May Flower.

A look and a word, my sweet lady; A thought of your kind heart, I pray, For a flower that blooms by the roadside, This beautiful morning in May. I know that engagements await you; I know you have many to meet; Yet, pray, linger here for a moment, And look at this flower of the street. 'Tis but May, my sweet lady, and hardly Has spring had the time to look bright; Yet this flower it called into being Already is smitten with blight. Already upon its fair leaflets Lie heavy the grime and the dust; Its shrivelled and lack-lustre petals, Tell a story—stop, lady!—you must. For a soul is in danger, my lady, The soul of this drooping street flower; And you by a look can recall it To life, or 'twill die in an hour. Ah me! if you knew but the power Of one word of kindness from you; Could you see what a tempest of passion A glance of your eye would subdue! What hope once again would awaken To arm this poor soul for the right! Thanks, my lady! Go happily onward, The tempted is strengthened with might.