50 
THE MORAL OF FLOWERS. 
‘ Read, stranger, in this ruin’s fate 
An emblem true of life ; 
Conflicting passions—love and hate, 
Joy, sorrow, fear, and strife. 
Combine, alas! in one dark plan 
To storm the “ citadel of man.” 
‘ And should they fail, a foe is near 
Who ne’er defeat hath known; 
Time ever follows in the rear, 
He wills, — the work is done ; 
For where’s the beauty, strength, or pride, 
Have e’er his withering touch defied ? 
< Wear’st thou to-day the wreath of fame? 
Oli! heed it — heed it not; 
A few brief years, thy place and name 
May be alike forgot, 
And but a lowly flow’ret wave 
Upon thy unremember’d grave. 
‘ Here ends the semblance ; never more 
This ruin’d pile shall rise, 
But man a seraph blest shall soar, 
When what is mortal dies, 
If, while earth’s changing paths he trod, 
His heart and hopes were fix’d on God.’ 
