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LILIES AND VIOLETS. 
 
LILIES AND VIOLETS 
 
 EASTER DAY 
 
 BY / 
 
 MAY RILEY SMITH, 
 
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 Author of ''^ Sometime.''' 
 
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 ^ APR IB^ ^ 
 
 ■mm. 
 
 NEW YORK : 
 ANSON D. F. RANDOLPH & COMPANY. 
 
 (Copyright, 1886, by Anson D. F. Randolph & Company.) 
 

EASTER DAY. 
 
 O SAD, sad soul, fling wide your doors, 
 And make your windows curtainless ! 
 
 Strew odours on your silent floors, 
 And all your walls with lilies dress ! 
 
 Throw open every sombre place ; 
 
 Roll every hindering stone away ! 
 Let Easter sunshine gild your face, 
 
 And bless you with its warmth to-day ! 
 
 Let friends renew each by-gone hour, 
 Let children fling the world a kiss : 
 
 And every hand tie in some flower, 
 To crown a day so good as this ! 
 
 And whether skies are sad or clear, 
 We'll give the day to joy and song : 
 
 For since the Christ is surely here, 
 
 All things are right, and naught is wrong! 
 
O BELLS IN THE STEEPLE. 
 
 O BELLS in the steeple, 
 
 Ring out to all people 
 That Christ has arisen, that Jesus is here ! 
 
 Touch heaven's blue ceiling 
 
 With your happy pealing, 
 O bells in the steeple, ring out full and clear! 
 
 O soft April showers, 
 
 Call out the young flowers, 
 Touch each little sleeper, and bid her obey ! 
 
 Set daffodils blowing. 
 
 And fresh grasses growing, 
 To thrill the old world on this new Easter-day ! 
 
 O lilies so stately, 
 
 Like maids tall and shapely, 
 Christ loved you, and talked of your beauty of old ! 
 
 Stand up in your places, 
 
 And bend your white faces. 
 While swinging before Him your censers of gold ! 
 
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O violets tender, 
 
 Your shy tribute render ! 
 Tie round your wet faces your soft hoods of blue ; 
 
 And carry your sweetness, 
 
 Your dainty completeness, 
 To some tired hand that is longing for you. 
 
 O velvet-bloomed willows. 
 
 Go comfort sick pillows 
 With visions of meadow-lands, peaceful and brown ! 
 
 The breath of Spring lingers 
 
 Within your cold fingers. 
 And the brook's song is caught in your fringes of down. 
 
 O world, bowed and broken 
 
 With anguish unspoken. 
 Take heart and be glad, for the Lord is not dead ! 
 
 On some bright to-morrow, 
 
 Your black cloud of sorrow 
 Will break in a sweet rain of joy on your head ! 
 
 O bells in the steeple, 
 
 Ring out to all people. 
 That Christ has arisen, that Jesus is here ! 
 
 Touch heaven's blue ceiling 
 
 With your happy pealing ; 
 O bells in the steeple, ring out full and clear! 
 
SOME VIOLETS. 
 
 Dear friend, I give thee violets ; 
 
 And for my fee, 
 The fragrant secret of thy life 
 
 Disclose to me. 
 
 For through it, like a guiding thread, 
 
 I scent the rue ; 
 And faintly track the odorous feet 
 
 Of heart's-ease too. 
 
 Reach down on patient cords to me 
 
 Thy brimming cup 
 Of wise, sweet thoughts, that I may drink, 
 
 And thus toil up 
 
 To where thou art, so meekly high, 
 
 So far away. 
 I can but kiss my eager hands 
 
 To thee to-day. 
 7 
 
Or, if I may not reach so high, 
 
 Then be it so ; 
 If I may sit beside thy feet, 
 
 'Twill not be low. 
 
 And, listening soft, my soul may catch. 
 
 In some far sense. 
 The tuneful impulse of a life 
 
 Serene, intense. 
 
 Ah, me ! I do but spoil my work 
 
 With clumsy phrase ; 
 And mar, with my uncultured speech, 
 
 Where I would praise. 
 
 So I will lay my heart's-ease down 
 
 At thy kind feet ; 
 Regretting sore their broken stems, 
 
 Their vanished sweet. 
 
 Yet praying that their faded blue 
 
 Some type may be 
 Of the fair badge my heart shall wear 
 
 Always for thee ! 
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