32 
THE WHITE VIOLET. 
Sweet lowly plant! once more I bend, 
To hail thy presence here, 
Like a beloved returning friend, 
From absence doubly dear. 
Wert thou for ever in our sight. 
Might we not love thee less ? 
But now thou bringest new delight. 
Thou still hast power to bless. 
Still doth thine April presence bring 
Of April joys a dream ; 
When life was in its sunny spring, 
A fair, unrippled stream. 
And still thine exquisite perfume 
Is precious, as of old; 
And still thy modest tender bloom 
It joys me to behold. 
It joys and cheers me when I see 
Pain on earth’s meek ones press, 
To think the storm that rends the tree 
Scathes not thy lowliness. 
And thus may human weakness find, 
E’en in thy lowly flower, 
An image cheering to the mind, 
In many a trying horn - . 
M. 
