FIVE buds were on the parent tree,
But God took one away;
"This flower will be too fair," said He,
"Upon this earth to stay."
And now, by His own throne above,
Our bud is blooming fair;
Twined in the garland of His love,
Our Prince is proud to wear.
A smaller bad now groweth there,
Whose red we just descry--
A blithesome child, with silken hair,
Gay as a butterfly.
With joy and gladness for her dower,
And always on the wing,
She extracts sweets from every flower--
For her, life has no sting.
My Pet! of all, I love
Thou child of noblest mind,--
Who lov'st me more than all the rest,
So generous, good and kind!
Sweet bad! Thou'rt very fair to me,
Unfolding day by day;
From sorrow be thou ever free,
On earth -- long be thy stay!
And still another openeth rare,
Its petals now unclose,
More lovely far beyond compare
Than any splendid rose.
Graceful her form, as willow tree,
Her hair of sunny hue;
Face fair as mortal face can be,
Her eyes of heavenly blue.
Endowed with nature's every gift--
With beauty, mind and health;
Oh, may she never cast adrift
Such store of Nature's wealth!
Transplanted to another clime,
The eldest bud hath bloomed;
But cankered ere the opening time,
Her life to sorrow doomed.
Once, thoughtless, happy, gay and bright,
In life's young opening day,
'Till the fell frost, with glittering blight,
Ate her young heart away.
Now she awaits her Saviour's voice,
To kindly bid her come;
Her broken heart can but rejoice
To hear the summons home!