A SIMILE. 
91 
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, whene’er 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 hour, 
—Thomson. 
A SIMILE 
0 BONNIE was yon rosy brier, 
That blooms sae fair frae haunt o man; 
And bonnie she, and ah, how dear ! 
It shaded frae the e’enin sun. 
Yon rosebuds in the morning dew, 
How pure amang the leaves sae green ; 
But purer was the lover’s vow 
They witness’d in their shade yestreen. 
I 
