224 
POETRY OF FLOWERS, 
When they return to us 
In the dim night, 
Are they not angel-like, 
Holy and bright— 
Sanctified—purified 
Unto us now. 
With a heaven-garland. 
Encircling each brow ? 
_Turn to the living ones 
There as they stand. 
Touch the live hearts of them 
With thy love-vsand— 
Seek not the weeds in them. 
And to thy sight 
They will be angel-like. 
Holy, and bright. 
Look for the Flowers ! 
Look for the flowery way. 
Life has its clouds; 
Treasured ones, suddenly 
Wrapp’d in their shrouds, 
Hopes often dash’d aside— 
Hearts rudely torn, 
And o’er wreck’d promises 
Oft do we mourn ;— 
Hints, too, are given us. 
That our swift day, 
Rapidly—rapidly, 
Fleeteth away. 
