84 
POETKY OF FLOWERS. 
And say, that He who from the dust 
Kecalls the slumbering flower, 
Will surely visit those who trust 
His mercy and his power ; 
Will mark where sleeps their peaceful clay. 
And roll ere long the stone away. 
the LILY O’ THE VALE 
How oft I’ve sat beneath this bower, 
At twilight’s calm enchanting hour. 
An ’ wooed a sweet wee modest flower— 
The lily o’ the vale. 
The bricht-birds sang frae ’mangst the trees 
Soon lost its charm my heart to please. 
When her rich voice swelled on the breeze— 
Fair lily o’ the vale. 
My heart has throbbed wi’ pleasure sweet, 
My hours hae fled like moments fleet. 
When her ripe, lips wi’ mine did meet— 
Sweet lily o’ the vale. 
Her brow is o’ the snawdrap’s hue. 
An’ dark her een o’ shining blue. 
Her lips twin roses gemmed wi’ dew— 
Fair lily o’ the vale. 
