Oh God,

Down in a green and shady bed,

A modest violet grew;

Its stalk was bent, it hung its head

As if to hide from view.

And yet it was a lovely flower,

Its colour bright and fair;

It might have graced a rosy bower,

Instead of hiding there.

Yet thus it was content to bloom,

In modest tints arrayed;

And there diffused a sweet perfume,

Within the silent shade.

Then let me to the valley go

This pretty flower to see;

That I may also learn to grow

In sweet humility.

The Violet

by Jayne Taylor

Melt down my silver and gold.