250 SONGS AND CHORUS OF THE FLOWERS. 
Grossest hand can test us, 
Fools may prize us never:-— 
Yet we rise, and rise, and rise—marvels sweet 
for ever. 
Who shall say that flowers 
Dress not heaven’s own bowers! 
Who its love, without us, can fancy—or sweet 
floor ? 
Who shall even dare 
To say we sprang not the^e— 
And came not down that Love might bring one 
piece of heaven the more ? 
0 ! pray believe that angels 
From those blue dominions, 
Brought us in their white laps down, ’twixt their 
golden pinions. 
