DROPS FROM FLORA’S CDP. 73 
TilE ROSE. 
REV. ROBERT CAUNTER. 
How beautiful the rose, as it unfolds its vernal 
dyes, 
And breathes a holy fragrance round, like incense 
from the skies; 
Cast to the breeze the sparkling dew3 that glitter 
on its stem, 
And wreaths around its blushing brows a crystal 
diadem. 
But while the bee with honeyed lip salutes the 
vernal flower, 
That’s daily brightened by the sun, and cherished 
by the shower, 
The blast of desolation comes and sweeps it to the 
dust, 
When all its beauties perish, as all mortal beauties 
must. 
Behold that gentle maiden, in the fair fresh morn 
of youth, 
Upon her cheek the holy glow of innocence and 
truth; 
The sudden shock of sorrow strikes — the blush no 
longer glows, 
But verifies the fate of her fragile type, the rose. 
Destruction comes alike to all, the meanest and 
the best, 
