TO THE CACTUS S P E C IO SIS SI M U S. 
69 
Yet while we muse, a blight 
Steals o’er thee, and thy shrinking bosom shows 
The mournful symptoms of a wan disease. 
I will not stay to see thy beauties fade. 
Still must I bear away within my heart 
Thy lesson of our own mortality. 
The fearful withering of each blossom’d bough 
On which we lean, of every bud we fain, 
Would hide within our bosoms from the touch 
Of the destroyer. 
So instruct us, Lord ! 
Thou Father of the sunbeam and the soul, 
Even by the simple sermon of a flower, 
To cling to Thee. 
