MORAL OF FLOWERS. 
67 
Through primrose tufts, in that sweet bower, 
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths ; 
And ’tia my faith that every flower 
Enjoys the air it breathes.” — Wordsworth. 
Oil! what a world of delightful thoughts and 
sensations are opened to us by these exquisite 
lines; how mighty are they to subdue every 
stormy passion, and soften the asperities of our 
nature; how humanizing is their influence upon 
the mind ; again and again they recur to us, like a 
sweet echo, until we are melted even to tears ; 
—the rock is smitten, and gives forth its gushing 
waters ; the arid desert “ blossoms like the rose !” 
We reflect on “ what man has made of man,” 
and resolve henceforward to use our utmost 
endeavors to relieve the load of human misery, 
for the creed which teaches that “ every flower 
enjoys the air it breathes,” while drawing 
neaier to those radiant peoplers of creation, 
stirs, as it were by electricity, the golden links 
of that sympathetic chain which binds us to our 
fellow men, calling fopth all our kindliest 
feelings, and prompting us to acts of love. 
Yes ! beautiful and radiant creatures ! as ye 
