A HAPPY THOUGHT 



OF HENRY WARD BEECHER'S 



FLOWERS are the sweetest things that God ever 

 made and forgot to put a soul into. 



FLOWERS 



BY JOHN MILTON 



From Lycidas 



YE VALLEYS low, where the mild whispers rise 

 Of shades and wanton winds and gushing brooks, 

 On whose fresh lap the swart star sparely looks, 

 Throw hither all your quaint enamel'd eyes, 

 That on the green turf suck the honey'd showers, 

 And purple all the ground with vernal flowers. 

 Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, 

 The tufted crow-toe and pale jessamine, 

 The white pink and the pansy freak'd with jet, 

 The glowing violet, 



The musk rose, and the well-attired woodbine, 

 With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, 

 And every flower that sad embroidery wears; 

 Bid Amaranthus all his beauty shed, 

 And daffodillies fill their cups with tears, 

 To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid lies. 



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