\H i YOiCfc OF 1 FLOW^flS. 



- Anci when the fallen meet the scorn 



Of man s disdainful eye, 

 They smile amid his path of thorn 



With sweet and pitying sigh ; 

 And to the brow of guilt and care, 



The heart by anguish riven, 

 Still point, with angel-finger, where 



The sinner is forgiven. 



They shrink not in our ghastly shroud 



Their sad abode to take, 

 And keep their vigil o er the tomb, 



When all beside forsake ; 

 Down in their own dark sleep of death 



They sink at wintry hour, 

 But in new glory rise to show 



The soul s immortal dower. 



Oh ! sharers in our time of joy, 



And weepers in our woe, 

 We bless ye, children of the sky, 



That by the wayside grow ; 

 That to the cottage eaves go up, 



Or wreathe the courtly hall, 

 Still, like the Power who call d ye forth, 



Dispensing love to all. 



