HARE-BELL. 
**4 
Tho’ feeble, frail and helpless, 
God makes her strong to bear 
The storms of dark affliction, 
And weight of weary care. 
THE FORGET ME NOT. 
Not on the mountain’s shelving side* 
Nor in the cultivated ground, 
Nor in the garden’s painted pride, 
The flower I seek is found. 
Where Time on sorrow’s page of gluom 
Has fix’d its envious lot, 
Or swept the record from the tomb. 
It says, Forget-me-not. 
And this is still the loveliest flower. 
The fairest of the fair, 
Of all that deck my lady’s bower, 
Or bind her floating hair. 
