MEADOW SAFFRON. 9 



Upspringing in the wild mead lone, 

 From whence all other flowers are gone, 

 Must sink before the chastening blast, 

 When murky clouds are gathering fast. 

 Ah, no ! nor stern winds piping loud, 

 Nor sleet, nor rain, from driving cloud. 

 Can harm the little orphan flower. 

 Which God hath set in this lone hour. 

 That mighty Hand which placed on high 

 The glittering stars that stud the sky ; 

 And those — the seven fair isles of light, 

 So purely, spiritually, bright, 

 Which shine, as if nor care nor sin 

 Could find a place their realms within. 

 That mighty Hand has placed me here. 

 Child of the pale descending year, 

 Witness, that neither sleet nor rain, 

 Nor stern winds eddying o'er the plain, 

 Can harm the little orphan flower, 

 Sustain'd in weakness by His power. 



