« AnteriorContinuar »
In fancifully plumed array,
And showering thick perfume,
Has kindled into bloom,
Blest Flowers! Tnere breathes not one unfraight
With lessons sweet and new ;
The Wall-flower, tried and true;
As gems of night,
The flowers are culled; and each lithe stem
With Woodbine band we braidWith Woodbine, type of Life's best gem,
Of Truth, that will not fade : The Wreath is wove; do Thou, blest Power, That brood'st o'er leaflet, fruit, and flower,
Embalm it with thy love ;
Whilst, free in Eden's grove,
THE USE OF FLOWERS.
BY MARY HOWITT. God might have bade the earth bring forth
Enough for great and small, The oak-tree and the cedar-tree,
Without a flower at all.
He night have made enough, enough,
For every want of ours;
And yet have made no flowers.
The ore within the mountain-mine
Requireth none to grow,
Nor doth it need the lotus flower
To make the river flow.
The clouds might give abundant rain,
The nightly dews might fall,
Might yet have drunds them all.
Then, wlierefore, wherefore were they made
All dyed with rainbow light;
Up-springing day and night ;
Springing in valleys green and low,
And on the mountains high, And in the silent wilderness,
Where no man passes by ?
Our outward life requires them not
Then wherefore had they birth? To minister delight to man,
To beautify the earth;
To comfort man-to whisper hope
Whene'er his faith is dim ;
Will much more care for him!
BY RICHARD H. DANA.
I loved you ever, gentle flowers,
The while your spirit stole
In secret to my soul, To shed a softness through my ripening powers, And lead the thoughtful mind to deepest truih.
And now, when weariness and pain
With each a smiling face,
In all your simple grace,
And with your looks of joy
To wake again the boy, And to the pallid cheek restore its bloom, And o'er the desert mind pour boundless wealth.
And whence ye came, by brimming stream, 'Neath rustling leaves, with birds within,
Again I musing tread
Forgot my restless bed, And long, sick hours.--Too short the blessed
dream! I woke to pain !--to hear the city's din!!
But time nor pain shall ever steal
And blessings on ye, Flowers.
Though few with me your hours,
THE SENSITIVE PLANT.
And the spring arose on the garden fair,