EVENING FLOWERS. 105 



The fond exulting parent culls 



Its blossoms, rich and red, 

 And twines a garland bright with hope 



For each young slumberer s head. 



While they who best its root protect, 

 With thrilling breast shall prove, 



How the sweet charities of home 

 Fit for a heaven of love. 



But when this heart-flower droops its head, 



And wearied mortals ask 

 The deep repose that nightly fits 



For morn s returning task, 



Up springs another by its side, 



With calm and lowly eye, 

 A seraph-planted germ that holds 



Communion with the sky : 



The flower of soul! Its breath is prayer, 



And fresh its balm-drops flow, 

 To cleanse the ills that stain d the day, 



And heal the wounds of woe. 



While gently o er its closing sigh, 



With blessed vision bends 

 That angel-guarded sleep, which God 



To his beloved sends. 



