Transcription:
These paper-bags here, all for you, For every lass and laddie too; In them three bulbs so fat and round As only grow in
Holland's ground, They came to us and want to live In any soil that you may give, In wind or shelter, bed or spot, In
sun or shade, in box or pot. And as you children wish to know How right to plant, how best to grow, Just follow what we
have to tell: We've lived with them, and know them well. Plant each in holes five inches deep, And ere you think it, there
will peep A bunch of leaves into the light, First tightly packed, then stretched in might, And in the centre of its hold
Now forms a stem, alone and bold. It bears a button for a head Wrapped tight as if in fear of wet. But wait, till but the
sun is out Then see, and hear the joyous shout As now it bursts with whim and will Into the TRUMPET DAFFODIL While still
at home the winds do blow And tell of storms and distant snow. But louder only blows the horn: Springtime has come when
I am born, My tender garment, golden dressed Declares that HOPE is manifest. The other bulb, its fairest mate, Doth now
unfold, a trifle late, In purest white with crimson eye That never questions when or why, But tells of FAITH in heaven
found, The words of Easter, world-around. NARCISSUS is its cheery name, Its soul, a Christ, from Heaven came. The third--wee
thing--of different kind Of rush-like foliage, modest mind, Of smaller growth, in darker shade, Brings tresses many, finely
made. They are but small, yet we are told, Of heavy texture, purest gold. And for a message they impart The incense of
a grateful heart. A voice that all can understand, From northern clime to southern land, The voice of everlasting LOVE
From earth beneath to heaven above. They gave it JONQUIL for a name, Of worldwide beauty, worldwide fame. Now, children
when these flowers glow Enjoy them, love them as they grow, Content to leave them where they stand Or pluck them for another
hand; But promise that the bulbs alone Shall rest till all the leaves are gone. Forget about them, as it were, As if you
did no longer care. And lo, a year from planting day A double number makes its way In HOPE, FAITH, LOVE, to golden bliss
Your DAFF'DIL, JONQUIL and NARCISS. Trot off, you happy gard'ning lot, Dig up your bed, seek out your spot. And if a thought
of thanks should come To Mary's heart or lips of Tom, Remember then the givers' mood: Be HAPPY, that it is GRATITUDE.