TO THE CARDINAL FLOWER. 
How shall I paint the da zzlin g red, 
That decks thy high resplendent head? 
There’s not a flower in field or lea, 
In brilliance can compare with thee. 
As well portray the diamond gleam 
Of noonday on the rippling stream, — 
As well attempt the rosy glow 
That snnset gives to clouds of snow. 
The Cardinal, his scarlet crown. 
May proudly at thy feet lay down. 
For glory’s added to his power. 
By giving name to such a flower. 
I said I’d paint it, but whene’er I tried. 
Its matchless hue, my feeble skill defied. 
Go, hold aloft, said I, thy glowing light. 
And still shine on, where nothing else is bright. 
Go, bless the plants in humbler garb arrayed. 
And give their low, damp homes thy cheering aid. 
For, brilliant one, the happy power is thine. 
To make the dismal swamp’s dank margin shine. 
Go, raise thy head to Him who hves in heaven. 
And praise Him for the splendor he has given. — 
A glimmering lamp at mournful midnight shone. 
Shamed by the scene its faint beams rested on, — 
A scene of deathless love, of deathhke life, — 
A drunken father, and a dying wife. 
In Charity’s sweet form an angel creeps. 
Through the low door, and o’er the sufferer weeps — 
( 85 ) 
