Floral Poetry . 
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 ! 
Bernard Barton. 
PRIDE AND TPIE POPPIES. 
“ 10JE little Red-caps are among the Corn, 
Merrily dancing at early morn; 
We know that the Farmer hates to see 
Our saucy red faces, but here are we! 
“ We pay no price for our Summer coats, 
lake those slavish creatures, Barley and Oats ; 
We don’t choose to be ground and eat 
Like our heavy-head neighbour, Gaffer Wheat. 
“ Who dare thrash us, we should like to know ? 
Grind us, and bag us, and use us so? 
Let meaner and shabbier things than we 
So stupidly bend to utility !” 
