THE LANGUAGE OS' FLOWERS, 47 
Now mould’ring silently away, 
Aged and young devoutly hent 
In simple prayer — how eloquent 1 
For each good gift man then possessed 
Demanded blessing, and was blest. 
What though in our pride’s selfish mood 
We hold those times as dark and rude, 
Yet give we, from our wealth of mind, 
Most grateful feeling, or refined 1 
And yield we unto Nature aught 
Of loftier, or of holier thought, 
Than they who gave sublimest power 
To the small spring, and simple flower ? 
Devotional excitements. 
BY WORDSWORTH, 
W Here will they stop, those breathing Powers, 
The spirits of the new-born flowers ? 
They wander with the breeze, they wind 
Where'er the streams a passage find ; 
Dp from the native ground they rise 
In mute, aerial harmonies, 
