ONLY A BUNCH OF VIOLETS.
Copyright, 1895. by Frank Harding.
Words and Music by Alice M. Reynolds.
While riding in a street car, one balmy, bright, spring day,
I chanced to note a crippled child, who sat just 'cross the way;
His sad, gaunt face, and clothing bare, which I at once could see,
Said more than any language of dire poverty;
The child's face, as I read it, was not like other boys:
No happiness was written there, no trace of childish joys;
Into the car came a lady, whose face was bright and fair:
A bunch of flowers adorned her breast, their fragrance filled the air.
'Twas only a bunch of violets, only a child's sad face,
That wakened a feeling in each one's heart which time can ne'er efface.
Only a bunch of violets, their mission was filled with joy;
They made the world seem brighter to the poor little crippled boy.
All eyes were turned upon the child as, with upheaving breast,
He seemed to draw the fragrance of the flowers from their nest;
The craving of that childish heart no tongue hath power to tell;
He turned and said, "Please, lady, may I have just one smell?"
Then, with a sob, she gave the flowers to the boy:
He pressed them to his bosom, his face lit up with joy.
The hearts of all beat faster-while trav'ling through life's way
They'll ne'er forget the crippled child, nor the lesson taught that