


94 
POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
Thus it bursts forth like thy pale cup, 
Glist’ning amid its dewy tears, 
And bears the sinking spirits up, 
Amid its chilling fears. 
But still more animating far, 
If meek religion’s eye may trace, 
Even in thy glimm’ring earth-born star, 
The holier hope of grace. 
The hope that as thy beauteous bloom, 
Expands to glad the close of day ; 
So through the shadows of the tomb, 
May break forth Mercy’s ray. 
THE DAISY. 
MEEK and modest little flower, 
Simplest offering of the hour, 
Blooming in obscurest shade, 
Or the sun-lit verdant glade ; 
On the rock, or in the dell, 
Forest walk, or woodland fell; 
Ever easy in thy lot, 
And content to be forgot. 
*Mid thy sisters’ fairer bloom, 
Or their rich and rare perfume, 
