rOETEY OF FLOWEES. 
183 
Ye dwell beside our paths and homes, 
Our paths of sin, our homes of sorrow ; 
And guilty man, where’er he roams, 
Your innocent mirth may borrow. 
The birds of air before us fleet. 
They cannot brook our shame to meet; 
But we may taste your solace sweet. 
And come again to-morrow. 
Ye fearless in your nests abide ; 
Nor may we scorn, too proudly wise. 
Your silent lessons, undescried 
By all but lowly eyes. 
For ye could draw the admiring gaze 
Of Him who worlds and hearts surveys ; 
Your order wild, your fragrant maze. 
He taught us how to prize. 
Ye felt your maker’s praise that hour. 
As when he paused and owned you good ; 
His blessing on earth’s primal hour. 
Ye felt it all renewed. 
What care ye now if winter’s storm 
Sweep ruthless o’er each silken form ? 
Christ’s blessing at your heart is warm ; 
Ye fear no vexing mood. 
Alas! of thousand bosoms kind 
That daily court you and caress. 
How few the happy secret find 
Of your calm loveliness! 
