1.There is a story I have heard- A poet learned it of a bird,And kept its music every word-2.A story of a dim ravine,O’er which the towering tree tops lean,With one blue rift1 of sky between.
3.And there,twthousand years ago,A little flower as white as snow Swayed2 in the silence tand fro.
4.Day after day,with longing eye,The floweret watched the narrow sky,And fleecy clouds that floated by.
5.And through the darkness,night by night,One gleaming star would climb the height3,And cheer the lonely floweret‘s sight.
6.Thus,watching the blue heavens afar,And the rising of its favorite star,A slow change came-but not tmar.1 Rift,a narrow opening,a cleft. 2 Swayed,swung.3 Height,an elevated place.
7.For softly o’er its petals1 white There crept a blueness,like the light Of skies upon a summer night;8.And in its chalice2,I am told,The bonny3 bell was formed thold A tiny star that gleamed like gold.
9.Now,little people,sweet and true,I find a lesson here for you Writ in the floweret‘s hell of blue.
10.The patient child whose watchful eye Strives after all things pure and high,Shall take their image by and by.1 Petals,the colored leaves of a flower. 2Chalice,a cup or bowl.3Bonny,beautiful.
