34 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 



That so much beauty needs must have a soul, 

 And that such form as tints the gazer s dream, 

 Held higher spirit than the common clod 

 On which we tread. 



Yet while we muse, a blight 

 Steals o er thee, and thy shrinking bosom 



shows 



The mournful symptoms of a wan disease. 

 I will not stay to see thy beauty fade. 



Still must I bear away within my heart 



Thy lesson of our own mortality ; 

 The fearful withering of each blossomed bough 

 On which we lean, of every bud we fain 

 Would hide within our bosoms from the touch 

 Of the destroyer. 



So instruct us, Lord ! 



Thou Father of the sunbeam and the soul, 

 Even by the simple sermon of a flower, 

 To cling to Thee. 



