44 
THE POETRY OP FLOWERS. 
MIGNONETTE. 
Flowers very fragrant. Colour greenish white, with 
yellow stamens. 
YOUR QUALITIES SURPASS YOUR CHARMS. 
Beauty consists not in the sparkling eye. 
The damask cheek and lip, or forehead high ; 
Not in the graceful form, or glistening hair. 
Or melody of voice 1 Oh no l not there;— 
But in the sour., which every glance displays 
Basking fur ever in affection's rays— 
Speaking in love’s soft tones, with sunlight smile, 
Which can an aching heart from woe beguile 1 
It dwelleth there in majesty supreme, 
Sweeter than music’s voice, or seraph’s dream ! 
Miss II. J. Woodman. 
MOSS. 
There are many different kind6 of Moss, all of which 
are greatly admired for their verdure and beauty. 
MATERNAL LOVE. 
Number thy lamps of love, and tell me now 
IIow many canst thou re-liglit at the stars. 
And blush not at their burning ? One 1—one only !— 
Lit while your pulses by one heart kept time. 
And fed with faithful fondness to your grave— 
(Though sometimes with a hand stretched back fVom 
heaven) 
Steadfast through all things—near when most forgot— 
And with its finger of unerring truth 
Pointing the lost way in thy darkest hour. 
One lamp —thy mother's love —amid the stars 
Shall lift its pure flame changeless, and before 
The throne of Cod burn through eternity— 
Holy—as it was lit and lent thee here.. 
N. P. Willis. 
MYRTLE. 
A beautiful tree, held in high estimation by the 
ancients. Flowers white. 
LOVE IN ABSENCE. 
1 miss thee each lone hour. 
Star of my heart l 
No other voice hath power 
Joy to impart. 
I listen for thy hasty step. 
Thy kind, sweet tone; 
But sorrowing silence whispers me. 
Thou art alone l 
Darkness is on the hearth— 
Nought do I say; 
Books are but little worth— 
Thou art away ! 
Voices, the true and kind. 
Strange are to me; 
1 have lost heart and mind. 
Thinking of thee. '• 
Mrs. Scott. 
NASTURTIUM. 
Flowers golden yellow. Very brilliant. Plant some¬ 
what creeping. 
PATRIOTISM. 
Hail to the land whereon we tread. 
Our fondest boast l 
# * * 
There is no other land like thee. 
No dearer shore; 
Thou art the shelter of the free,— 
The home, the port of liberty. 
Thou hast been, and shalt ever be. 
Till time is o’er. 
Ere I forget to think upon 
My land, shall mother curse the son 
She bore. 
J. G. Peru tv at.. 
