No. 13 from "Songs of the Land of Sunset by J. P. Webster"
"The Crocus" (1859)
Words by Harriet Beecher Stowe, 1811-1896
Music by Joseph Philbrick Webster, 1819-1875

Chicago, IL: H. M. Higgins, 45 Lake St.
Music Engraver: Pearson
[Source: am1233@Mills]

1.
Beneath the sunny Autumn sky, 
  With gold leaves drooping round, 
We sought, my little friend and I, 
  The consecrated ground, 
Where calm beneath the holy cross, 
  O’er shadowed by sweet skies, 
Sleeps tranquilly that youthful form, 
  Those blue unclouded eyes.

2.
Around the soft green swelling mound 
  We scooped the earth away, 
And buried deep the crocus bulbs 
  Against a coming day. 
“These roots are dry, and brown, and sere, 
  Why plant them here,” he said, 
“To leave them all the Winter long 
  So desolate and dead?”

3.
“Dear child, within each sere dead form
  There sleeps a living flower,
And angellike it shall arise
  In Sping’s returning hour.”
Ah, deeper down— cold, dark, and chill,
  We buried our heart’s flower,
But angel like shall he arise
  In Spring’s immortal hour. 

4.
In blue and yellow from its grave
  Springs up the crocus fair,
And God shall raise those bright blue eyes,
  Those sunny waves of hair.
Not for a fading Summer’s morn,
  Not for a fleeting hour,
But for an endless age of bliss,
  Shall bloom our heart’s dear flower.