POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
163 
And flowers less fair, 
That scent the air, 
Like pleasant friends drop balm for thee, 
And thou winnest spoil. 
By thy daily toil. 
Thou patient, thrifty, and diligent bee. 
We may learn from the bee the wise man’s lore, 
“ The hand of the diligent gathereth store.” 
He plies in his calling from morn till night 
Nor tires of his labour nor flags in his flight; 
From numberless blossoms of every hue, 
He gathers the nectar and sips the dew. 
Then homeward he speeds 
O’er the fragrant meads. 
And he hums as he goes his thankful lay— 
Let our thanks too arise 
For our daily supplies, 
As homeward and heavenward we haste on our 
way. 
THE WINTER ROSE. 
The soft blooms of Summer are faint to the eye 
Where brightly the gay silver Medway glides by ; 
And rich are the colours which Autumn adorn, 
Its gold chequer’d leaves, and its billows of corn. 
