Many a bud enfolds a hue that never sees the sun;
Unfriendly thoughts have blasted hopes that love has just begun;
Many a rose unwatched hath grown where summer sunbeams lie,
That left its thorns unbared and brown to face the winter sky.
Many a stream has babbled love to neighboring flowers in dell,
That running seaward lost itself in moan and surging swell;
Many a tree disdains to bend that falls before the storm,
While flexile reeds submissively to frigid blasts conform.
Many a life with pride is launched that bears a golden name,
And drifts through waste of watery woe a wreck of bitter shame;
While adverse winds have tempests blown o'er craft of humbler sail,
That, tossed through spray of lashing waves, outrode the angry gale.
Many a growth of flaunting ease betrays a sterile soil,
While generous impulse shackeled dies in ruin of despoil;
Many a heart its glory wins e'en through a chast'ning rod,
And yields its sorrows, tears, and sighs to will of gracious God.
