28 
THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
They twinkle to the wintry moon, 
And cheer the ungenial day, 
And tell us all will glisten soon, 
As green and bright as they. 
Is there a heart that loves the spring. 
Their witness can refuse ? 
Yet mortals doubt when angels bring 
From Heaven their Easter news: 
When holy maids and matrons speak 
Of Christ’s forsaken bed, 
And voices, that forbid to seek 
The living ’mid the dead ; 
And when they say, “ Turn, wandering heart, 
Thy Lord is risen indeed, 
Let pleasure go, put care apart, 
And to His presence speed 
We smile in scorn; and yet we know 
They early sought the tomb, 
Their hearts that now so freshly glow, 
Lost in desponding gloom. 
They who have sought, nor hope to find 
Wear not so bright a glance : 
They who have won their earthly mind. 
Less reverently advance. 
But where, in gentle spirits, fear 
And joy so duly meet, 
These sure have seen the angels near. 
And kissed the Saviour’s feet. 
