Down the drain,
Flushing the gutters as they go;
Yet it has no gain.
Oh, that even a single drop seen
To the air arise;
Or it be sweetened and clean,
'Ere it compromise.
What flower in the sewer would bloom
With beauty and sweet smell?
In darkness without sun or room
Within its prison cell?
Draw your water from the well of the deep,
Where purest waters run.
Then pluck the flower from the dark so tenderly
And place it in the sun