Floral Poetry. 
167 
The hoary mountain-heights were cheered, 
The sunny vale looked gay; 
And to the Primrose of the rock 
I gave this after-lay. 
I sang—Let myriads of bright flowers, 
Like thee, in field and grove, 
Revive unenvied ;—mightier far, 
Than tremblings that reprove 
Our vernal tendencies to hope, 
Is God’s redeeming love; 
That love which changed—for wan disease, 
For sorrow that had bent, 
O’er hopeless dust, for withered age— 
Their mortal element, 
And turned the thistles of a curse 
To types beneficent. 
Sin-blighted though we are, we too, 
The reasoning Sons of Men, 
From our oblivious Winter called, 
Shall rise, and breathe again; 
And in eternal Summer lose 
Our threescore years and ten. 
To humbleness of heart descends 
This prescience from on high, 
The faith that elevates the just, 
Before and when they die; 
And makes each soul a separate heaven, 
A court for Deity. 
Wordsworth. 
