He stirred his thoughts for ways to earn
  Some little gain; and hence,
Contrived the silver pond to turn. 
  In part, to silver pence.

He found the lilies blooming there
  So spicy sweet to smell,
And to the eye so pure and fair,
  He plucked them up to sell.

He could not to the market go: 
  He had too young a head,
The distant city’s ways to know;
  The route he could not tread.

But, when the coming coach-wheels rolled
  To pass his humble cot,
His bunch of lilies to be sold
  Was ready on the spot.

He’d stand beside the way, and hold
  His treasures up to show,
That looked like yellow stars of gold
  Just set in leaves of snow.

“O buy my lilies!” he would say;
  “You’ll find them new and sweet: 
So fresh from out the pond are they,
  I haven’t dried my feet!”

And then he showed the dust that clung
  Upon his garment’s hem,
Where late the water-drops had hung,
  When he had gathered them.

And while the carriage checked its pace,
  To take the lilies in,
His artless orphan tongue and face
  Some bright return would win.

For many a noble stranger’s hand,
  With open purse, was seen,
To cast a coin upon the sand,
  Or on the sloping green.

And many a smiling lady threw
  The child a silver piece;
And thus, as fast as lilies grew,
  He saw his wealth increase.

While little more—­and little more,
  Was gathered by their sale,
His widowed mother’s frugal store
  Would never wholly fail.

For He, who made, and feeds the bird,
  Her little children fed. 
He knew her trust:  her cry he heard;
  And answered it with bread.

And thus, protected by the Power,
  Who made the lily fair,
Her orphans, like the meadow flower,
  Grew up in beauty there.

Her son, the good and prudent boy,
  Who wisely thus began,
Was long the aged widow’s joy;
  And lived an honored man.

He had a ship, for which he chose
  “The lily” as a name,
To keep in memory whence he rose,
  And how his fortune came.’

He had a lily carved, and set,
  Her emblem, on her stem;
And she was called, by all she met,
  A beauteous ocean gem.

She bore sweet spices, treasures bright;
  And, on the waters wide,
Her sails as lily-leaves were white: 
  Her name was well applied.

Her feeling owner never spurned
  The presence of the poor;
And found that all he gave returned
  In blessings rich and sure.

The God who by the lily-pond
  Had drawn his heart above,
In after life preserved the bond
  Of grateful, holy love.

=The Humming-Bird’s Anger=

“Small as the humming-bird is, it has great courage and violent passions.  If it find a flower that has been deprived of its honey, it will pluck it off, throw it on the ground, and sometimes tear it to pieces.”  Buffon.