H<5EAL OF FLOWERS. 
73 
While winters upon winters roll, 
There hath a captive trod ; 
His was that madness of the soul 
Which knows not of a God. 
One morn between the clefts of stone 
Two leaflets burst to view ; 
And day by day, and one by one. 
The fragile branches grew. 
it grew—nor canker knew—nor blight, 
’Neath sun, and storm, and shower; 
A blessing to the captive’s sight 
It grew—a dungeon flower ! 
Oh, beautiful and gentle thing 1 
Meek offspring of the sky ! 
Oomest thou, like a breath of spring. 
To whisper and to die ! 
The captive marked its growth, and fel 
His soul subdued to tears: 
That tender thing had power to melt 
The gathered frosts of years 
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