60 
THE BOUQUET. 
For broader grew that crimson streak, 
Back folds the leaf of green— 
And he in wonder still and meek 
Watched all its opening sheen. 
“ ’Tis done, ’tis done !” at length he cried, 
With glad amazement wild— 
The Rose, in new created pride, 
Had open’d for the child. 
Oh ! had we hearts like thine, sweet boy. 
To watch Creative Power 
We too should thrill with kindred joy 
At every opening flower. 
