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THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
'I lion may not one poor floweret’s bloom 
The holier memory share 
Of Him, who, to avert our doom, 
Vouchsafed our sins to bear ? 
God dwelleth not in temples rear’d 
By work of human hands, 
Yet shrines august, by men revered 
Are found in Christian Jands. 
«»N 
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 humblo hop© 
In Him who died for all! 
