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FLOWERS BY THE POETS. 
THE MOSS ROSE. 
The angel of the flowers one day, 
Beneath a rose-tree sleeping lay,— 
That spirit to whose charge ’tis given 
To bathe young buds in dews of heaven ; 
Awaking from his light repose, 
The angel whispered to the rose : 
“ O fondest object of my care, 
Still fairest found, where all are fair ; 
For the sweet shade thou giv’st to me 
Ask what thou wilt, ’tis granted thee.” 
“ Then,” said the rose, with deepened glow. 
“ On me another grace bestow.” 
The spirit paused, in silent thought, 
What grace was there that flower had not ? 
’Twas hut 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 ? 
Krummacher. 
THE ROSE AND THE LILY. 
Of. love the type, of beauty queen, 
We own the Rose ; but by her side 
In spotless purity serene 
The Lily stands with modest pride. 
Miss Landon. 
