TO THE WOOD LILT. 
Loile Lily, on tliy slender stem, 
TLou’dst grace a regal diadem. 
But art thou, lovely cLild of ligM, 
As vain and proud as tlion art bright? 
The question is no sooner sent 
From my rash lips, than I repent; 
I know that pride is not thy dower. 
Thou unassuming rustic flower. 
Thou’dst smile with just as sweet a grace, 
Into the little beggar’s face. 
As if she were a prince’s child. 
And all the world upon her smiled. 
Thou, by the One who sends the showers, 
And gentle dews upon the flowers. 
Art with his charity imbued. 
Blessing the evil and the good. 
