DROPS FROM FLORA’S CDF. 85 
THE LILY. 
MISS H. F. GOULD. 
Imperial beauty! fair, unrivalled one 1 
What flower of earth has honor high as thine, — 
To find its name on Sis unsullied lips, 
Whose eye was light from heaven ? 
In vain the power 
Of human voice to swell the strain of praise 
Thou hast received; and which will ever sound 
Long as the page of inspiration shines — 
While mortal songs shall die as summer winds, 
That, wafting off thine odors, sink to sleep! 
I will not praise thee, then ; hut thou shalt be 
My hallowed flower! The sweetest, purest 
thoughts 
Shall cluster round thee, as thy snowy bells 
On the green polished stalk, that puts them forth! 
I will consider thee, and melt my cares 
In the bland accents of Sis soothing voice, 
Who, from the hill of Palestine, looked round 
For a specimen of skill divine; 
And, pointing out the Lily of the field. 
Declared, the wisest of all Israel's kings, 
In his full glory, not arrayed like thee! 
