IN THE FRONT YARD. 163 



Every blossom is a smile of Providence, sliowing that 

 God is near, giving choicest gifts to men. 



They are the interpreters of the unseen love which 

 is lurking in the shadows waiting for a revelation to 

 the toilers and the despondent. 



'No more heroic flower ever bloomed. 

 In the great prairie empire, so dreary and vast, 

 Where roses are slain by the terrible blast. 

 Where sirocco and blizzard in tournament vie, 

 And flowers of the Eastland grow homesick and die ; 

 Where gardens are lonely and homes are forlorn, 

 There bravely our queen lifts her beautiful form 

 And laughs at the tempest and smiles at the storm. 

 And mothers whose eyes have grown weary with wait- 

 ing, 

 And girls whose sweet spirits for beauty are aching. 

 Shall smile on the march of our glorious flower. 

 And souls that are hungry her beauty devour. 

 Xo more shall the homestead be sad and forlorn. 

 An invasion of beauty the land shall adorn. 

 How sweetly her blossoms the senses beguile, 

 And the weary revive with the breath of her smile. 



What tremendous strides have already been made, 

 and the successes of the past are only prophecies of the 

 future. Fifty years ago there were only twenty-five 

 varieties. Now there are over 2,000 named, besides 

 thousands of others in the background. An interest 

 is being awakened unknown before. 



One man has recently planted 35 pounds of the 

 choicest seed he can gather, and hundreds of others are 



