THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
I he flowers are culled; and each lithe stem 
With Woodbine band we braid— 
With Woodbine, type of Life’s best gem, 
Of Truth, that will not fade: 
The Wreath is wove; do Thou, blest Power, 
I hat brood’st o’er leaflet, fruit, and flower. 
Embalm it with thy love ; 
O make it such as angels wear, 
Pure, bright, as deck’d earth’s first-born pair, 
Whilst, free in Eden’s grove, 
Trom herb and plant they brushed the dew, 
A.ti't .ujuher sin nor sorrow knew. 
—-♦- 
TflE USE OF FLOWERS. 
BY MARY HOW1TT. 
God might have bade the earth bring furtH 
Enough for great and small, 
The oak-tree and the cedar-tree, 
Without a flower at all. 
He might have made enough, enough, 
For every want of ours ; 
For luxury, medicine, and toil, 
And yet have made no flowers. 
The ore within the mountain-mme 
Requireth none to grow, 
