GARDENS. WREATHS, &c. 
39 
And next I heard the lowly Camomile, * 
Who, as I trod on him with reckless feet, 
And wrang his perfume out, cried, List awhile — 
E’en thus with charity the proud one greet. 
And, as insulters press, 
E’en turn thou thus and bless, 
And yield from each heart’s bruise a redolence more sweet. 
Then from his rocky pulpit I heard cry 
The Stonecrop. See how loose to earth I grow, 
And draw my juicy nurture from the sky. 
So drive not thou, fond man, thy root too low; 
But, loosely clinging here, 
From God’s supernal sphere 
Draw life’s unearthly food, catch heaven’s undying glow. 
Then preach’d the humble Strawberry. Behold 
The lowliest and least adorn’d of flowers 
Lies at thy feet; yet lift my leafy fold, 
And fruit is there unfound in gaudier bowers. 
So plain be thou, and meek, 
And when vain man shall seek, 
Unveil the blooming fruit of solitary hours. 
Then cried the Lily: Hear my mission next. 
On me thy Lord bade ponder and be wise; 
Oh! wan with toil, with care and doubt perplext, 
Survey my joyous bloom, my radiant dyes. 
My hues no vigils dim, # 
All care I cast on Him 
Who more than faith can ask each hour to faith supplies. 
