258 THE LANGUAGE QE FLOWERS 
And may not e’en a simple flower 
Proclaim His glorious praise, 
Whose fiat, only, had the power 
Its form from earth to raise ? 
Then freely let thy blossom ope 
Its beauties—to recall 
A scene which bids the humble hope 
In Him who died for all! 
THE PASSION-FLOWER. 
ANON. 
Its tender shoots, fostered with care, extend 
Far in festooned luxuriance, 
Its drooping flowers, to blend, 
Sweet mixture ! modesty and loveliness ; 
But more—when closely viewed, this flower appears 
To bear the sacred mark of sacred tears, 
Adding to the plant’s beauty—holiness. 
How like this flower can woman be, so fair! 
So beautiful! too delicate her mind 
Would seem, the world’s rude withering frost to bear 
Without some guardian’s help, round whom to bind 
Its tendrils in pure trusting confidence. 
When rightly trained her blossoms bloom, they shine 
In more than beauty’s lustre ; they combine 
With earthly charms, celestial innocence, 
Breathing of sacred things : yet, like that flower alone 
To those who view her near, her holiness is known. 
