CONCLUDING PIECES. 
329 
FLOWERS. 
ANON. 
I love ye flowers, sweet flowers, whose tale 
Is not of earth’s degrading toil; 
I love to think that Heaven itself 
Has told you when to bloom and die. 
The sun and shower fulfil his word, 
And ask no meaner agency. 
Beautiful flowers ! oh leave me yet 
One thought that springs from earth tolleav’n, 
Nor be the image of my God 
From his fair earthly garden driv’n. 
The same. —bishop horne. 
THE HELIOTROPE. 
Through all the changes of the day, 
I turn me to the sun : 
In clear and cloudy skies I say 
Alike —Thy will be done! 
THE VIOLET. 
A lowly flow’r in secret bow’r, 
Invisible I swell; 
For blessing made, without parade. 
Known only by my smell. 
