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POETEY OF FLOWERS. 
Greet us where’er we turn our steps, 
Like angels from the skies ! 
They say that nought exists on earth, 
However poor or small, 
Unseen by God ; the meanest things. 
He careth for them all! 
The flowers ! the lovely flowers 1 
The fairest type are they 
Of the soul springing from its night 
To sunshine and to day ; 
For though they lie all dead and cold, 
With winter’s snow above, 
The glorious spring doth call them forth 
To happiness and love! 
Ye flowers ! ye lovely flowers ! 
We greet ye well and long ! 
With light, and warmth, and sunny smile, 
And harmonj^ and song ! 
All dull and sad would be our earth, 
Were your bright beauties not; 
And thus, without Life’s Flowers of Love, 
Oh, what would be our lot ! 
