136 ENGLISH BOTANY. 



Whose seed and foliage sun embrowned, 

 Are in its waters steeped and drowned, 

 And give a bitter taste. 



Above the lowly plants it towers, 

 The fennel with its yellow flowers ; 

 And in an earlier age than ours 

 Was gifted with the wondrous powers 

 Lost vision to restore. 



It gave men strength and feai-less mood, 

 And gladiators, fierce and rude, 

 Mingled it with their daily food. 

 And he who battled and subdued, 

 A wreath of fennel wore. 



Then in life's goblet freely press 

 The leaves that give it bitterness ; 

 Nor prize the coloured water less, 

 For in thy darkness and distress 



New light and strength they give. 



And he who has not learned to know 

 How false its sparkling bubbles show. 

 How bitter are the drops of woe 

 With which its brim may overflow. 

 He has not learned to live. 



Let our increasing, earnest prayer 

 Be too for light — for strength to bear 

 Our portion of the weight of care 

 That crushes into dumb despair 

 One half the human race. 



Oh ! sufiering, sad humanity ! 

 Oh ! ye afflicted ones, who lie 

 Steeped to the lips in misery, 

 Longing, and yet afraid to die. 

 Patient, tho' sox-ely tried. 



I pledge you in this cup of grief. 

 Where floats the fennel's bitter leaf ; 

 The battle of our life is brief ; 

 The alarm — the struggle — the relief — 

 Then sleep we side by side. 



