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THE VIOLET. 
Moss that covers dateless tombs ; 
Bud, with early sweet that blooms; 
Childhood thus, in happy rest 
Lies on ancient Wisdom’s breast. 
Moss and rose, and age and youth. 
Flush and verdure, hope and truth, 
Yours be peace that knows not strife 
One the root, and one the life. 
—Patterson. 
THE VIOLET. 
Sweet lowly plant! once more 1 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 thy April presence bring 
Of April joys a dream ; 
When life was in its sunny spring— 
A fair unrippled stream. 
