The lily blooms in gay parterre, the violet in the shade;
But each is sweet and most complete, where'er its lot is laid.
And what is true of plant and flower holds good of lord and churl.
The lady in her palace halls, or lowly village girl.
Within her lofty castle home grew up fair Lily Vane,
As pure and stately as the flower from which she took her name.
Yet gentle was the maid and good, like gold without alloy;
With every circling year that passed, her parents' pride and joy.
And modest Violet's mother kept the lodge beside their gate;
She learned betimes to knit and sew, content in humble state.
No gold or gems to deck her hair, no silken robe had she;
A loving heart and true was all the dower of Violet Lee.
These maiden-flowers grew, and waxed more sweet from day to day;
Each in her place the lesson learned, to love, to work, and pray.
They learned to smile at others' joy, to weep with others' woe,
To cheer the heart, and raise the head with sorrow drooping low.
Fair Lily in her lordly halls became a baron's bride;
Sweet Violet humbly labored by her peasant-husband's side.
Pure Lily's sway was felt among the great ones of the earth;
Sweet Violet cheered with heart and hand her lowly cottage hearth.
Their lots were far apart in life, the goal for each the same:
A faithful heart serves God and man in lady as in dame.
So, like the flowers whose name they bore, when past life's summer day,
A fragrance from their lives they left that ne'er shall pass away.