As through the golden corn I went
To pluck the ears at harvest time,
I noticed those that lowliest bent
Were in their prime.
If one should in a garden seek
Where sweetest fragrance might be found,
He'd choose the violet, hidden, meek,
Low, near the ground.
When stars are shedding through the night
Their feeble radiance from on high,
One shineth ever, clear and bright,
Low in the sky.
The violet in her mossy bed,
The Evening Star's pure radiancy,
The fruitful ear, with drooping head,
Are like to thee.
The lowliest seat is thine by choice—
No loftier place wilt thou desire,
Till thou shalt hear thy Master's voice—
"Friend, come up higher!"
The loveliest flower springs low.