112 
THE MORAL OF FLOWERS. 
Oh! would that I, from earth’s defilement free, 
Could bare my bosom to the light like thee ! 
But, ah! I feel within a blighting power 
Marring each grace, like hidden worm the flower, 
And, trembling, shrinking, gladly would I fly 
That “ light of light,” Jehovah’s piercing eye. 
Yet whither can I go ? Oh! there’s a wave 
Where he who weeps for sin his soul may lave ; 
There would I plunge, and sad, not hopeless, lie, 
Waiting the first fair day-spring from on high, 
Then glad emerging from the healing stream 
Welcome like thee, sweet flower, the dawning beam. 
