DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. Ill 
HYMN TO THE FLOWERS. 
HORACE SMITH. 
Day-stars! that ope your eyes with man, to twinkle 
From rainbow-galaxies of Earth’s creation, 
And dewdrops on her lonely altar sprinkle 
As a libation: — 
Ye matin worshippers! who, bending lowly 
Before the uprisen sun, God’s lidless eye, 
Throw from your chalices a sweet and holy 
Incense on high: — 
Ye bright mosaics! that, with storied beauty, 
The floor of Nature’s temple tesselate; 
What numerous emblems of instructive duty, 
Your forms create! 
Your voiceless lips, 0 flowers! are living preachers; 
Each cup a pulpit, every leaf a book ; 
Supplying to my fancy numerous teachers 
From lonliest nook. 
Flora’s apostles! that, in dewy splendor, 
* Weep without Woe, and blush without a crime 
0, may I deeply learn, and ne’er surrender, 
Your lore sublime. 
