Poem by Albert Laighton

Under the Leaves

Oft have I walked these woodland paths,
Without the blessed foreknowing
That underneath the withered leaves
The fairest buds were growing.

To-day the south-wind sweeps away
The types of autumn's splendor,
And shows the sweet arbutus flowers, -
Spring's children, pure and tender.

O prophet-flowers! - with lips of bloom,
Outvying in your beauty
The pearly tints of ocean shells, -
Ye teach me faith and duty!

Walk life's dark ways, ye seem to say,
With love's divine foreknowing
That where man sees but withered leaves,
God sees sweet flowers growing.

1. My Native River
2. The Two Worlds
3. Joe
4. A Passing Thought
5. To J. G. W.

Leigh Giltner Under the Leaves ("The phalanxes of corn stand grim and serried")

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