THE PASTURE THISTLE, 



CNICUS PUMILUS Torrey. 



THE THISTLE FLOWER. 



MY homely flower, that blooms along 



The dry and dusty ways, 

 I have a mind to make a song, 



And make it in thy praise ; 

 For thou art favored of my heart, 

 Humble and outcast as thou art. 



Though never with the plants of grace 



In garden borders set, 

 Full often have I seen thy face 



With tender tear-drops wet, 

 And seen thy gray and ragged sleeves 

 All wringing with them morns and eves. 



Albeit thou livest in a bush 



Of such unsightly form, 

 Thou hast not any need to blush 



Thou hast thine own sweet charm; 

 And for that charm I love thee so, 

 And not for any outward show. 



Alice Gary. 



I NEED hardly make a point of formally introducing the Thistle 

 to my readers. It has a faculty of pointedly introducing itself, and, 



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