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They run on, with their eyes shut, to the precipice of Eternity, and, 
perhaps only then begin to think, when they find themselves where there 
shall he no hope of redemption. 
Ah ! my dear reader, often should you think of these things and pre¬ 
pare—for the years of Eternity. 
Our National Flower.* 
Our national flower, our national flower, 
Of Freedom the emblem—which one shall it be? 
No rose of the garden, where proud wall stands warden, 
Nor pale hothouse lily, Republic, for thee! 
The stars on thy standard, like God’s stars in heaven, 
Shine fully and freely, for each and for all; 
Then claim for thine emblem the flower—God-given 
Alike to both hovel and hall— 
The common wild daisy, the humble field-daisy, 
The daisy that blossoms for all. 
No flower confined to the rich and the mighty, 
No flower withheld from the humble and poor, 
By blood of brave men on our star-and-striped pennon, 
As national emblem shall lift or endure! 
Then down with the bloom of proud hotbeds and closes, 
And up with the flower that grows o’er their wall, 
Far fairer than orchids and lilies and roses, 
The flower so modest and small— 
The pretty white daisy, the shy little daisy, 
The daisy that blossoms for all! 
*The above spirited poem was composed—while on a visit to St. Louis—by the daughter 
of Mr. Patrick Sarsfield Gilmore, the founder and director of the celebrated band of musicians 
bearing his name. As can be seen, the argument of the talented writer's theme is based on 
the pronounced democracy, so to say, of the Daisy, which likens it to the character of our civil 
institutions and to the spirit of our people. 
When, at the time of its first appearance, this poetical gem was presented to a bright 
Class in Literature, one of the students declared it a very “Daisy !” 
