Which is the prettiest flower Growing in field or dell? Think of it, little children, See if your tongues can tell. Is it the white-fringed daisy, Bright with its heart of gold? Is it the fragrant snowdrop, Peeping above the mold? Which is the prettiest flower Blooming in woody glade? Is it the lowly violet, Seeking the cooling shade? Is it the sweet field-lily, Lifting her shining head? Or is it the perfumed wild rose, On the clearest dewdrops fed? Which is the prettiest flower Growing in meadow green?— The buttercup so yellow, With gay and dashing mien? Is it the dandelion, So like a star of gold? Or is it the tiger-lily, With manner bright and bold? Oh, who can tell, my children, The prettiest flower of all, From lily fair and stately To violet so small? For each is bright and glowing, And fills with native grace, From early seed to blowing, Its own appointed place. WORK. Work! work! work! ’Tis better to work than play— ’Tis better to do some little good As we travel from day to day; ’Tis better to help some needy one Than to idle our time away. Work that is done with zeal Is never too hard to do, Work that is full of use Will bring only strength to you; Work that will bless some weary soul Is filled with a purpose true. Oh, children, large or small, Give happy smiles, not tears, Give pleasant looks and loving words Through all the coming years To those who come to you in pain, Bowed down by doubts and fears. Give of the best you have To brighten life below, To all who come within your reach As on your way you go; Be gentle, patient, true, and kind, A friend to all in woe.