The Pansy
Secretly I greatly fancy,
A little plant in our own lawn,
It is the pensive little pansy,
Which inwardly my heart has drawn. 
That violacious herb of beauty,
Aroma, yes, it’s violet.
Contently holding it life's duty.
To win each heart that it has met.
Though lowly it doth stay content,
As though indeed it had no care,
Shedding to all loves tempting scent,
Making the world more sweet and fair.
Thus should Christian go on living,
Nor should be heed the tramp of scorn.
Their greatest joy should be in giving,
To cheer those met on every morn.
Greet then a world with smiling face,
A countenance without defeat;
Your heart illumined by God’s grace,
Will bear that perfume grand and sweet.
H. E. Crane