Yes, each of ye in turn 
Points some pure moral to the human heart; 
One, bending ’neath the storm, to those who mourn 
Lessons of meek endurance may impart; 
Others that breathe at eve 
Sweet incense, urge to watchfulness and prayer; 
And, with united voice, all bid us leave 
The morrow to our common Father’s care. 
And thou, so fair and pale, 
That lovest ’mid grass and shadowing leaves to hide 
Thy modest charms, sweet Primrose, thee I hail, 
Reprover meek of vanity and pride. 
Alas, that pride, which wrought 
Man’s woe in Paradise, should haunt him still, 
No hated inmate, but with every thought 
Twined, closely twined, and prompting aye to ill. 
Oh, when within my breast 
Such thoughts are stirring, do thou gently chide, 
And timely whisper from thy leafy nest, 
‘ Shall man be proud, to sin and death allied ? ’ 
Mrs. Hey. 
