PASSION-FLOWER. 
Then may not one poor floweret’s bloom 
The holier memory share 
Of Him who, to avert our doom, 
Vouchsafed our sins to bear ? 
God dwelleth not in temples reared 
By work of human hands, 
Yet shrines august, by men revered. 
Are found in Christian lands. 
And may not e’en a simple flower 
Proclaim His glorious praise, 
Whose fiat, only, had the power 
Its form from earth to raise ? 
Then freely let thy blossom ope 
Its beauties—to recall 
A scene which bids the humble hope 
In Him who died for all ! 
THE PASSION-FLOWER. 
ANON. 
Its tender shoots, fostered with care, extend 
Far in festooned luxuriance. 
Its drooping flowers, to blend, 
Sweet mixture! modesty and loveliness; 
But more—when closely viewed, this flower appears 
lo bear the sacred mark of sacred tears, 
Adding to the plant’s beauty—holiness. 
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