My one wee bud that grows in the meadow,
Far apart from the flaunting garden blooms,
Afar, where the brook and birds are singing,
And the soft noon haze o'er the distance looms.
My one wee bud, but to grow so bravely
Where the rushes rise from the moorland green,
Where birds skim close o'er the grassy billows
And the low breeze murmurs its plaint between.
My one wee song I sing in the even,
When the home doth gather its loved ones close,
And the world's afar and hearts grow nearer,
And the jar of life sinks into repose.
My one wee song, like a flower growing
In this life of mine that were else so bare!
Ah! shalt thou go forth to do my bidding —
My love, shall he cull it as blossom fair?
Ah! flower and song, be this thy meaning,
Thy mission of love in the world is clear;
The grace once born of seed sown in shadow
Shall bloom in the hearts that now hold thee dear!