Small Beginning

When the first little crocus peeped out of the ground,
And slyly looked round,
Not a flower was awake not a bit of new green
Was anywhere seen;
And it seemed, with a shiver the little one said, 
          “Oh I am afraid,
The trees are so naked, the earth is so black!
          Please let me go back!
You have called me too early, my dear Mother Spring,
          I am such a wee thing!”

Then a bluebird whistled, “On ho! My dear, 
         It is good you are here;
For now we are sure that spring is near.”
Then a sober old robin came bustling by
         With the sleep in his eye;
“Ah me! How stupid I was to wait;
         And now I am late!
The bluebird has piped, and the crocus has come;
        And you know by the hum
The hot little bee is beating his drum.”

Then sweet Mother Spring, with a sunshine kiss,
          Said something like this:
Thanks, brave little crocus, so slender and small
          For heeding my call
While orchards were leafless, and snow-drifts staid
          In the all-day shade:
You are telling us sweetly that soonest begun
          The soonest is done;
That little by little makes up the great
And early obeying is better than late.”