I sought to mate with the sun above,
But lo! I am mortal still.
I envy the pansy that nods at my feet,
For though she is lowly, her life is sweet;
And I envy the lily, for she is glad,
And knows not the longings that make me sad."

A maiden sat where the pansies grew,
In a golden shower of light;
And she heard the words of the sighing rose,
Borne near in the wind's swift flight.
"Ah, rose!" she cried, "I am like to you;
There's never a heart in this world that's true;
I yielded a love that's thrown away,
And I'm weary of life on this summer's day.

"But listen, my rose, and I'll tell you, sweet,
The lesson I learned to-day;
There's never a heart in this wide, wide world
That was born to be thrown away.
The sun may smile as he sails away
In the depths of his azure seas for aye;
But the rose that blooms in the garden of love,
Is as fair as the sun to our God above.

"The smallest flower that slakes her thirst
In the dews of the early morn,
Is as great as the stars in heaven above,
The greatest that ever was born.
The love we give on this earth of ours