The children's thanks

I lay a wreath, with trembling hand,

Dear mother, on thy grave,

A wreath of thornless roses twined,

As fair as earth e'er gave.

No fairer blossoms o'er the head

of king or queen were piled,

And yet they oft on lowly grave

Are laid by beggar-child.

They grow beside the hedgerow wild

On summer's sunny banks,

Not ev'ry eye their charm beholds!

They call them "children's thanks."

O let them plead for me today,

O'er thee their fragrance shed.

To ev'ry blessing thou didst give

Thy "children's thanks" be wed!

And lest they lose their fragrant breath,

Or die before their hour,

With tears of love, in sorrow shed,

Have I bedewed each flower.