14 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
Ye ace to me a type of resurrection, 
A second birth. 
Were I, 0 God! in churchless lands remaining, 
Far from all voice of teachers or divines, 
My soul would find in flowers of thy ordai ung, 
Priests, sermons, shrines! 
THE WREATH. 
TO A FRIEND ON HER BIRTHDAY. 
BY WILLIAM PETERS. 
Let others sing the rich, the great, 
The victor’s palms, the monarch’s state , 
A purer joy be mine—- 
To greet the excellent of earth, 
To call down blessings on thy worth, 
And, for the hour that gave thee birth, 
Life’s choicest flowers entwine. 
And lo ! where snnlipg from above 
(Meet helpmate in the work of love) 
O’er opening hill and lawn, 
With flowerets of a thousand dyes, 
With all that’s sweet of earth and skies, 
Soft brea'hes the vernal dawn. 
