By the couch of pain and anguish.
Where I suffer, moan and languish.

When at length I sink to rest,
And the turf is on my breast,
Humble Dandelion!
Wilt thou when the morning breaketh,
And the balmy spring awaketh,
Bud and blossom at a breath
From the icy arms of death,
Wilt thou smile upon my tomb?
Drawing beauty from the gloom,
Making life less dark and weary,
Making death itself less dreary,
Whispering in a gentle tone
To the mourner sad and lone,
Of a spring-time when the sleeper
Will arise to bless the weeper?


My Father made this beautiful world and gave me a heart to love his
works. Oh, may I love Him better than all created things!


The little plat of ground around our house is a great field of
instruction and amusement to me. How little do I comprehend of all
contained within it! I am glad I was not born in some great city--
where Nature had not been so kind and dear a friend.