The Flax Flower

Oh, the little flax flower!

It groweth on the hill,

And, be the breeze awake or 'sleep

It never standeth still.

It groweth, and it groweth fast;

One day it is a seed

And then a little grassy blade

Scarce better than a weed.

But then out comes the flax flower

As blue as is the sky;

And " 'Tis a dainty little thing,"

We say as we go by.

Ah 'tis a goodly little thing,

It groweth for the poor,

And many a peasant blesseth it

Beside his cottage door.

He thinketh how those slender stems

That shimmer in the sun

Are rich for him in web and woof

And shortly shall be spun.

He thinketh how those tender flowers

Of seed will yield him store,

And sees in thought his next year's crop

Blue shining round his door.

Oh, the little flax flower!

The mother then says she,

"Go, pull the thyme, the heath, the fern.

But let the flax flower be!

It groweth for the children's sake,

It groweth for our own;

There are flowers enough upon the hill,

But leave the flax alone!

The farmer hath his fields of wheat,

Much cometh to his share;

We have this little plot of flax

That we have tilled with care."

Oh, the goodly flax flower!

It groweth on the hill,

And, be the breeze awake or 'sleep,

It never standeth still.

It seemeth all astir with life

As if it loved to thrive,

As if it had a merry heart

Within its stem alive.

Then fair befall the flax-field,

And may the kindly showers

Give strength unto its shining stem,

Give seed unto its flowers!