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A treasure in a grain of earth, *■- 
Strange as a spirit from the dead, t 
Thine embryo sprang to birth* 
Thrice welcome, little English flower 1 
Whose tribes, beneath our natal skies. 
Shut close their leaves while vapours lower ; 
But, when the sun’s gay beams arise, 
With unabash’d, but modest eyes. 
Follow his motion to the west, 
Nor cease to gaze till daylight dies, 
Then fold themselves to rest. 
Thrice welcome, little English flower, t 
To this resplendent hemisphere. 
Where Flora’s giant offspring tower. 
In gorgeous liveries all the year ; 
Thou, only thou, art little here. 
Like worth unfriended and unknown. 
Yet to my British heart more dear 
Than all the torrid zone. 
Thrice welcome, little English flower ! 
Of early scenes beloved by me, 
While happy in my father’s bower, 
Thou shalt the blithe memorial be ; 
The fairy sports of infancy, 
Youth’s golden age, and manhood’s prime. 
Home, country, kindred, friends,—with thee, 
I find in this fair clime. 
