'Neath cloistered boughs each floral bell that swingeth, 



And tolls its perfume on the passing air, 

 Makes Sabbath in the fields, and ever ringeth 

 A call to prayer. 



HITS sung Horace Smith, in 

 years gone by, in one of the 



sweetest floral poems which the 

 English language has produced. 

 a verse which speaks to the heart, where its measured 

 cadences flow in sympathy with the uprising love of 

 Nature which springs unbidden, and sends forth its music 

 to gladden many a rugged path of life. 



The love of flowers is universal : it is an old melody, 



(7) 



