POETRY OF FLOWERS. 119 
Ye dwell beside our paths and homes, 
Our paths of sin, our homes of sorrow ; 
And guilty man, where’er he roams, 
Your innocent mirth may borrew. 
The birds of air before us fleet, 
They cannot brook our shame to meet 3 
But we may taste your solace sweet, 
And come again to-morrow. 
Ye fearless in your nests abide; 
Nor may we scorn, too proudly wise, 
Your silent lessons, undescried 
By all but lowly eyes. 
For ye could draw the admiring gaze 
Of Him who worlds and hearts surveys ; 
Your order wild, your fragrant maze, 
He taught us how to prize. 
Ye felt your maker’s praise that hour, 
As when he paused and owned you good; 
His blessing on earth’s primal hour, 
Ye felt it all renewed. 
What care ye now if winter’s storm 
Sweep ruthless o’er each silken form? 
Christ’s blessing at your heart is warm3 
Ye fear no vexing mood. 
Alas ! of thousand bosoms kind 
That daily court you and caress, 
How few the happy secret find 
Of your calm loveliness ! 




