THE ROSE. OW much of memory dwells amidst thy bloom, Rose! ever wearing beauty for thy dower! The bridal day-the festival-the tombThou hast thy part in each-thou stateliest flower! Therefore with thy soft breath come floating by Deep thoughts of all things beautiful and brief. Not such thy spells o'er those that hailed thee first Rose! for the banquet gathered, and the bier; MRS. HEMANS. THE LILY. "Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow."-MATT. vi. 28. WEET nurslings of the vernal skies, Bathed in soft airs, and fed with dew; To fill the heart's fond view? As when ye crowned the sunshine hours Of happy wanderers there. Fallen all beside-the world of life, But cheerful and unchanged the while The stars of heaven a course are taught Ye dwell beside our paths and homes, They cannot brook our shame to meet; Ye fearless in your nests abide Nor may we scorn, too proudly wise, Your silent lessons, undescried By all but lowly eyes: For ye could draw the admiring gaze Ye felt your Maker's smile that hour, As when He paused, and owned you good; His blessing on earth's primal bower, Ye feel it all renewed. What care ye now, if winter's storm Alas! of thousand bosoms kind, KEBLE LILIES OF THE FIELD. MATT. vi. 28, 29. LOWERS of the field! 'tis yours to preach Arrayed in garb of lovely hue, Our Father's care we trace in you; Let those of feeble faith, whose breast Ye toil not with perplexing care, The hand of Him who built the skies And clothes each beauteous plant; The Eternal One, whose sovereign power O ye who cannot trust your God, Each verdant leaf, each tint behold: With these could ere compare. REV. J. S. BROAD. WILD FLOWERS. E field flowers! the gardens eclipse you, 'tis true, For ye waft me to summers of old, When the earth teemed around me with fairy delight, And when daisies and buttercups gladdened my sight, Like treasures of silver and gold. I love you for lulling me back into dreams Of the blue Highland mountains and echoing streams, And of birchen glades breathing their balm, While the deer was seen glancing in sunshine remote, And the deep, mellow crush of the wood-pigeon's note Made music that sweetened the calm. Not a pastoral song has a pleasanter tune Than ye speak to my heart, little wildings of June; Where I thought it delightful your beauties to find, Even now what affections the violet awakes; What landscapes I read in the primrose's looks, Earth's cultureless buds, to my heart ye were dear, Had scathed my existence's bloom, Once I welcome you more, in life's passionless stage, And I wish you to grow on my tomb. CAMPBELL WILD FLOWERS. ILD flowers I love right well To visit where ye dwell, On mountain, valley, or in woody bowers, By what name Botanic ye are known, I care not; your'e the sameIn glory garmented-each in your own ; And God's benginant mercy to his creatures Speaks out in all your fascinating features. Since young years, My soul's full love ye share; And, treading where ye are, My heart grows bigger, and shakes off its tears; Shining forth side by side, unconscious of man's jars. |