IpaSSiflora rcrrulca. Natural Order: Passi/ioracciV—I'as.sioi/ Flo-vcr Family. 



r OSTLY natives of the tropical portions of America, the 



\\ Passion Flowers climb to a great height — frequently from 



' '' .,5«-thirty to forty feet, the stem attaining the thickness of 



or four inches in diameter. The foliage is palmate, 



divided into five lobes in the Brazilian variety, and 



^ into three parts in the North American plants. The flowers, 



.^ though transient, are large and beautiful. The petals, which are 



;^^ blue without, are lined with purple and white within, and 



k spread themselves out in a flattened manner, with a row of filaments 



K arranged around an inner circle, while erect stands the supposed 



1^' resemblance of the cross. Several varities are native in the United 



' ~ States. Among them are found flowers of red, purple, crimson, 



• and red and white. Some of the species are adapted to the hot- 



4 house, and others to the greenhouse or conservator}\ All are beautiful 



and attractive. The flower was named jlos passionis by the early missionaries, 



who in their religious zeal imagined they saw emblems of the crucifixion — the 



crown of thorns, nails, hammer, etc. — in the various parts of the curious blossom. 



^ 



fol^ Jotij* 



"11 7E see Thy hanci- 

 *^* We hear Thy \' 

 And then we turn aw 



■it leads us, it supports us; 

 ice — it counsels and it court 

 V, and still thy kindness 



Forgives our blindness, 

 'HY wonders do singly stand, 

 Nor far removed where feet have seldom stray'd 

 Around us ever lies the enchanted land, 

 marvels rich to Thine own sons displayed. 

 -7o,„l Very. 



\ SINGLE passion flower pressed 



Is what my wistful eye engages, 

 And all the sign of love once blest 



Lies buried 'tween the written p.iges. 



yoitn Bcnvrin^. 

 hundred voices I desire, 

 To tell thee what a hundred tongues 

 Yet never could be worthily exprest: 



deeply thou art seated in my breast. 



POR this 



[tire, 

 vould 



Hov 



But oh! the flower to you and me 

 A deeper mystery unrolls, 



For written on its leaves I see 



The record of two burning souls 



