MORNING GLORIES
They said, "don't plant them," mother; " they're
so common and so poor;"
But of seeds I had no other, so I dropped them
by the door:
And they soon were brightly growing, in the
rich and teeming soil,
Stretching upward, upward, upward, to reward:
me for my toil.
They grew all o'er the casement, and they
wreathed around the door,
All about the chamber windows, upward, - up-
ward, ever more;
And each dawn, in glowing beauty, glistening
with early dew,
Is the house all wreathed with splendor, every
morning bright and new.
What, if they close at mid-day? 'tis because
their work is done,
And they shut their crimson petals from the
kisses of the sun;
Teaching every day their lesson to my weary,
panting soul.
To be faithful in well doing, stretching upward
for the goal,
Sending out the climbing tendrils, trusting God
for strength and power,
To support, and aid, and comfort, in the trying
day and hour.
Ne'er spurn the thing that's common, nor call
homely flowers poor,
Each hath a holy mission, like my Glory o'er
the door.
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