THE LILY OF THE VALLEY—MAIDENHOOD. 87 
Gather, then, each flower that grows, 
"When the young heart overflows, 
To embalm that tent of snows. 
Bear a Lily in thy hand; 
Gates of brass cannot withstand 
One touch of that magic wand. 
Bear through sorrow, wrong, and ruth, 
In thy heart the dew of youth, 
On thy lips the smile of truth. 
Oh, that dew, like balm, shall steal 
Into wounds that cannot heal. 
Even as sleep our eyes doth seal; 
And that smile, like sunshine, dart 
Into many a sunless heart, 
For a smile of God thou art. 
Longfellow. 
