
read 
art, 

POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
Pillowed there, it lays securely, 
Moving with the moving wave, 
Up to heaven gazing purely, 
From the river’s gloomy grave. 
As I lock’d a burst of glory, 
Fell upon the snowy flower, 
And the lessoned allegory 
Learned I in that blessed hour :— 
Thus does Faith, divine, indwelling, 
Bear the soul o’er life’s cold stream, 
Though the gloomy billows swelling, 
Evermore still darker seem. 
Yet the treasure never sinketh, 
Though the waves around it roll, 
And the moisture that it drinketh, 
Nurtures, purifies the soul. 
Thus aye looking up to Heaven 
Should the white-and calm soul be, 
ladden in the sunshine given, 
Nor from clouds shrink fearfully. 
So I turned, my weak heart strengthened, 
Patiently to bear my wo; 
Praying, as the sorrow lengthened, 
My endurance too might grow. 
And my earnest heart’s beseeching 
Charmed away the sense of pain; 
So the lily’s silent teaching 
Was not given to me in vain. 

