THE SONG OF THE FLOWERS. 



" All Thy works praise Thee, O Lord." 



Psalm cxlv. 10. 



We come, we come, a joyous train, 

 To deck the vale and robe the plain ; 

 Of every form and every hue 

 From glittering gold to azure blue. 



We come, we come, with gladsome Spring 

 Our meed of praise anew to bring. 

 And silently to breathe around 

 A hymn of odours from the ground. 



We come, we come, in garden gay 

 Or shelter' d nook to live our day, 

 To revel on the mountain- side 

 Or in the misty glen to hide. 



We come, we come, like angels bright, 

 To charm the sense and bless the sight, 

 Rejoicing those who long to hail 

 Our perfume wafted on the gale ; 



