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lilies. 
There’s nae tinsel ahint thee, to make thee 
mair bright, 
Sweet Lily ! thy loveliness a’ is thine ain, 
And thy bonny bells, danglin’ sae pure and 
sae light, 
Proclaim thee the fairest o’ Flora’s bright 
train. 
The same. —anon. 
Fair flow’r, thatlapt in lowly glade 
Dost hide beneath the greenwood shade. 
Than whom the vernal gale 
None fairer wakes on bank or spray. 
Our England’s lily of the May, 
Our lily of the vale. 
Art thou that “ Lily of the field,” 
Which, when the Saviour sought to shield 
The heart from blank despair. 
He show’cl to our mistrustful kind. 
An emblem to the thoughtful mind 
Of God’s paternal care? 
Not thus I trow : for brighter shine 
To the warm skies of Palestine 
Those children of the east,— 
