Types

Only a little crossOf forest nurtured moss,Gray, brown and green—With here a gleam of gold,While there in dainty fold,Like fairy blossoms, scarlet tips are seen.

Only a simple wreath,Clasping the cross beneath,—Immortelles fair;Holding in fadeless hueThe summer's sun and dew,Bright living thanks for heaven's loving care.

Only a little life,Wherein a constant strifeIs waged with sin,With evils which allure,—With thoughts and aims impure,—That the whole soul grow undefiled within.

Often in humble ways,Kind deeds unknown to praiseBrighten a cross,That casts its tear-marked shadeWhere some life-hope is laid,—Some burden newly raised, some gold proved dross.

Kind deeds, like flowers fair,Should help with loving careTo soothe each loss;Then would life's common wayFind round its brown and grayLove's fair immortelles wreathing every cross.