The Stranger's Gift
I found far culled from fragrant field and grove
Each flower that makes our Spring a welcome guest;
In one sweet bond of brotherhood inwove
An osier band their leafy stalks compressed;
A stranger's hand had made their bloom my own,
And fresh their fragrance rested on the air;
His gift was mine—but he who gave unknown,
And my heart sorrowed though the flowers were fair.
Now oft I grieve to meet them on the lawn,
As sweetly scattered round my path they grow,
By One who on their petals paints the dawn,
And gilt with sunset splendors bids them glow,
For I ne'er asked 'who steeps them in perfume?'
Nor anxious sought His love who crowns them all with bloom.
poem by Jones Very
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