THE PASSION FLOWER. 
BARTON. 
We roam the seas—give new found isles 
Some King’s or Conqueror’s name ; 
We rear on earth triumphal piles. 
As meeds of earthly fame. 
Then may not one poor flow’ret’s bloom. 
The holier memory share. 
Of Him, who to avert our doom, 
Vouchsafed our sins to bear. 
God dwelleth not in temples rais’d 
By work of human hands, 
Vet shrines august, by men rever’d, 
Are found in Christian lands. 
And may not e’en a simple flower 
Proclaim his glorious praise. 
Whose fiat only had the power, 
Its form from earth to raise. 
Then freely let the blossoms ope, 
Its beauties to recall, 
A scene which bids the humble hope 
In him who died for all. 
