WILD FLOWEKS. 
97 
All hearts, to Nature true, ye strangely move; 
Ye are so passing fair—so passing free— 
I love ye all! 
Beautiful children of the glen and dell— 
The dingle deep—the moorland stretching wide, 
And of the mossy fountain’s sedgy side! 
Ye o’er my heart have thrown a loyesome spell: 
And though the worldling, scorning, may deride— 
. I love ye all! 
Moss. 
Praised be the mosses soft 
In earth’s pathway very oft; 
And the thorns which make us think 
Of the thornless river brink, 
Where the heavenly tread! 
Praised be thy sunny gleams, 
And the storm that worketli dreams 
Of calm unfinished. 
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