Classic Poem

I FOUND a flower, deep in shade,
But struggling outward toward the light;
The leaves about a bower made,
And almost hid it from my sight.

But it, alas, was blind; nor knew
The beauty of its resting place,
The busy feet of travel flew
Close by; it heeded not their race.

But though it saw nor sun, nor sky,
In calm content it sweetly grew.
The tender sky looked down, drew nigh
And steeped it in its own pure blue.

I too am blind, poor flower, like thee;
Like thee, may Heaven shine in me.