A Flower On The Trail

My heart was weary yesterday; I said: “The road is long; The busy hum of middle day Shuts out the morning song; The rush of careless, hurrying feet That crowd the upward slope, Have crushed the daisies into dust, And spent the dews of hope.”

Then straight within the trampled path The eager throng had trod, A little purple flower unclosed, Nor pined for greener sod: And one whose load had weighed him sore Looked down at it and smiled, And dreamed of woodland trails he loved To follow when a child.

So still when bitterness and fret Would drown the melody, Some little harmony steals in To set the music free; And we may keep till day is done The morning dreams we knew, If ever in our hearts there live The daisies and the dew.