PRECEPTS OF FLOWERS. 
41 
Unskilful he to note the card 
Of prudent >ore, 
Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, 
And whelm him o’er! 
Such fate to suffering worth is given, 
Who long with wants and woes has striven ; 
By human pride or cunning driven. 
To misery’s brink, 
Tiil wrenched of every stay but Heaven, 
He, ruined, sink ! 
Even thou who mourn’st the daisy’s fate, 
That fate is thine—no distant date ; 
Stern Ruin’s ploughshare drives elate, 
Full on thy bloom, 
Till crushed beneath the furrow’s weight, 
Shall be thy doom ! 
PRECEPTS OF FLOWERS. 
Flowers of the field, how meet ye seem 
Man’s frailly to portray. 
Blooming so fair in morning’s beam, 
Passing at eve away; 
