Cross Roads

SCARLET FLOWERS

     The window box across the street
     Is filled with scarlet flowers;
     They glow, like bits of sunset cloud,
     Across the dragging hours.
     What though the mist be like a shroud
     What though the day be dreary?
     The window box across the street
     Is warm, and gay, and cheery!

     The window box across the street
     Is filled with scarlet flowers;
     I almost catch their perfume sweet....
     Above the sound of tramping feet,
     They sing of country bowers.
     Against the house that looms so gray,
     They smile in—well, a friendly way.

     A tired shop girl hurries by;
     Their color seems to catch her eye;
     She pauses, starts, and wistfully
     She gazes up. It seems to me
     That I can hear her longing sigh....
     A little shop girl hurries by.

     A newsboy stops to sell his wares;
     The crowds brush by him; no one cares
     To buy his papers. But above
     The scarlet flowers bravely grow
     In token of the Father's love....
     The crowds brush coldly by below.

     A blind man stumbles, groping past;
     He cannot see their scarlet shine;
     And yet some memory seems to twine
     About his soul.
                     For, oh, he turns
     As trusting as a child who yearns
     For some vague dream, and smilingly
     He lifts the eyes that cannot see....
     A blind man stumbles, groping past.

     The window box across the street
     Is filled with scarlet flowers;
     They tell a secret, tender, sweet,
     Through all the dreary hours.
     And folk who hurry on their way
     Dream of some other brighter day....
     The window box across the street
     Is filled with scarlet flowers.