WILD FLOWERS. 19 
Though lowly ye, and most without a 
name, 
Young hearts rejoice to see your buds come 
forth, 
As light erevvhile into the world came— 
I love ye all! 
Beautiful things ye are, where’er ye grow ! 
The wild red rose—the speedwell’s peep¬ 
ing eyes— 
Our own blue-bell—the daisy, that doth 
rise 
Wherever sunbeams fall or winds do blow; 
And thousands more, of blessed forms and 
dyes— 
I love ye all! 
Beautiful nurslings of the early dew ! 
Fanned in your loveliness by every 
breeze, 
And shaded o’er by green and arching 
trees: 
I often wish that I were one of you, 
Dwelling afar upon the grassy leas— 
1 love ye all! 
Beautiful watchers! day and night ye wake ! 
That evening star grows dim and fades 
away. 
