22 THE DAISY. 



to see in its beauty, and its freshness, the 

 emblem of their rising up. 



Mourn not then, child of sorrow, 



As one who has no hope ; 

 But from each fair flower horrow 



Thoughts, with thy grief to cope. 



When stormy winds were sweeping 



O'er paths by mortals trod ; 

 These little flowers were sleeping 



In peace beneath the sod. 



A voice thou hearest never, 



But by its strong might known : 



On mountains brown with heather, 

 In valleys reft and lone. 



Call'd forth each fair flower sleeping, 

 Where crushing rains have been ; 



Or fierce tornadoes sweeping. 

 Have marr'd the sylvan scene. 



