GARDENS, WREATHS, &c. 31 



Scattered in rich display ; 

 Bring flowers — fresh flowers — around my dying bed, 

 The sweetness of the sunny south to shed, 



Ere I am called away. 



Bring flowers — fresh flowers — from every sheltered 



glade, 

 I know their brilliant beauties soon will fade 



Beneath my feverish breath j 

 But their bright hues seem to my wandering thought, 

 With promises of bliss and beauty fraught. 



Winning my heart from death. 



Bring flowers — fresh flowers — ere they again shall 



bloom, 

 I shall be lying in the silent tomb, 



Mouldering in cold decay ; 

 Bring flowers — fresh flowers — that I may cheer my 



heart 

 With pleasant images, ere I depart 

 To tread the grave's dark way. 



Bring fruits — rich fruits — that blush on every bough. 

 Bending above the traveller's weary brow. 



And wooing him to taste ; 

 Bring fruits — methinks I never knew how sweet 

 Thj joys that every day our senses greet. 



Till now in life's swift waste. 



