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3 These bulblets, Children, came one day From far-off sunny lands, Where they were strewn as wayside weeds From Nature's
loving hands. But think not little of their lot Because of low estate- The Gospel of the Mustard-seed Should caution
you to wait. Plant one inch deep with ample space In soil of any kind In window-box or garden-bed, Whatever best you
find. Give little water when they sprout, Increase as they grow high, And then you cease to water them, When leaf and
stem shall die. Now dig them up and find reward Before your joyous sight, As every bulblet planted then, Brings two and
three to light. Such is their way: The first to sprout Brings stalks of goodly height, And hoists thereon as banners green
Its leaves to wind and light. The flower-stems with hundred blooms Reach here and everywhere, So that the plant looks
all the world Like Baby's curly hair. But if they kink, and if they snarl, They laugh at such annoy, They bloom, and
bloom, and ever bloom, The YELLOW gold of JOY. The second looks its sister grown Precise and prim and neat, Of ready
will and energy, Whatever she may meet. And though the storms at times will tear Her banners' velvet spread, It only
knows in ever-bloom AFFECTION'S warmest RED. The third boasts not of height of stalk; Instead protects the ground That
gave it food, with spreading leaves, The largest that are found. The flowers, too, are double size Though near the ground
they stand And smile with wise and open face In PINK of sweet CONTENT. One family all, and yet diverse, They grow the
whole world over, As Shamrock here, Woodsorrel there, Cuckoo-meat, Sleeping Clover. To us they all are Oxalis, The plants
that love but light; That close their eyes, and fold their leaves Like sleepy birds at night. The plants that brightly
reappear Like as they passed away, And blooming greet us CHRISTMAS morn, EASTER, THANKSGIVING DAY.