60 
POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
And say, that He who from the dust 
Recalls the slumbering flower, 
Will surely visit those who trust 
His mercy and his power ; 
Will mark where sleeps their peaceful clay, 
And roll ere long the stone away. 
WILD FLOWERS. 
Beautiful children of the woods and fields! 
That hloom hy mountain streamlets ’mid the 
heather, 
Or into clusters, ’neath the hazels, gather,— 
Or where hy hoary rocks you make your bields, 
And sweetly flourish on through summer weather,— 
I love ye all! 
Beautiful flowers ! to me ye fresher seem 
From the Almighty hand that fashioned all, 
Than those that flourish by a garden-wall; 
Ari d I can image you, as in a dream, 
Fair modest maidens, nursed in hamlets small,— 
I love ye all! 
Beautiful gems ! that on the brow of earth 
Are fixed, as in a queenly diadem; 
Though lowly ye, and most without a name, 
Young hearts rejoice to see your buds come forth, 
As light erewhile into the world came,— 
I love ye all! 
