196 
ROSE. 
Didst sigh thy odours where she rests her head. 
O stranger, waking pensive thoughts, we meet 
Once more, but ah, how chang’d, 
Far from my home, and thine ! 
Since lastwe met, long years have slowly rolled; 
Have brought—have left their troubles, but 
there is 
A balm for human woe ; 
And more than human love 
Hath hover’d like some heavenly spirit near. 
Mercy can give to saddest grief a joy, 
And bid sweet-briars grow 
Where thorns beset my path. 
The Power that bids thee spring in foreign earth, 
And gives thee strength to shed thy fragrance 
here, 
Still clothing thee with green. 
Appoints to man his lot. 
My wondering infants crowd to gaze at thee, 
Fair sprig, with looks of love, that seem to say 
In whispers to my heart, 
‘ O is not this our home 1 ’ 
May I like thee at least be loved, and live 
For others’ good, then die, but not unblest. 
If one lost soul but learn 
From me that heaven is home ! 
