THE MOSS ROSE. 
FROM THE GERMAN. 
i 
BY J. B. ' 
The Angel of the flowers one day, 
Beneath a rose-tree sleeping lay ; 
That spirit to whom charge is given 
To bathe young buds in dews of Heaven ; 
Awaking from his light repose, i 
The angel whispered to the rose :— ^ 
Oh, fondest object of my care. 
Still fairest found, where all is fair ; 
For the sweet shade thou giv’st to me. 
Ask what thou wilt, ’tis granted thee !” 
Then,” said the rose, wuth deepen’d glow^, | 
On me another grace bestow.” 
The spirit paused in silent thought:_ 
What grace was there the flower had not ?_ 
’Twas but a moment—o’er the rose 
A veil of moss the angel throws ; 
And robed in Nature’s simplest weed. 
Could there a flower that rose exceed ? 
85 I 
