134 
THE MORAL OF FLOWERS. 
Yes, take thy station here, 
Thou flower so pale and fair! 
That I from thee may sweetest lessons borrow ; 
For thou hast that to tell, 
Methinks, which suiteth well 
The lingering hours of languishment and sorrow. " 
The cleft rock is thy home, 
Yet sweetly dost thou bloom, 
E’en while the threatening winds are round thee swelling; 
And where’s the pamper’d flower 
Can richer fragrance shower 
Than thou, fair blossom, from thy storm-wrought dwelling ? 
Say, then, though pale decay 
Wear youth and health away. 
Shall sighs alone this troubled breast be heaving ? 
Oh no ! I ’ll bless the chain 
Which to this couch of pain 
lias bound me long, for ’tis of mercy’s weaving. 
What though I tread no more 
The temple’s hallow’d floor. 
Whence to our God the full-voiced hymn ascendeth ; 
* Thoughts in sickness. 
