"There is to me A daintiness about these early flowers, That touches me like poetry. They blow out With such a simple loveliness among The common herbs of pasture, and they breathe So unobtrusively, like hearts Whose beatings are too gentle for the world.”
“I love God and every little child."
“O, each of these young human flowers
God's own high message bears, And we are walking all our hours With . angels unawares.'”